


Runs in the Family

by gleefulmusings



Category: Bones (TV), Glee, Law & Order: SVU, Major Crimes (TV), Medium, The Closer, The Mentalist, Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Gen, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-11-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleefulmusings/pseuds/gleefulmusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt Hummel has an interesting and complex extended family. This series of one-shots details some of his interactions with them. Psychic!Kurt</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Case Closed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new series of one-shots in which Kurt reunites with various members of his large and scattered extended family via crossovers. Some of these one-shots will be interrelated and some won't be. Kurt's age, occupation, and residence might change, depending on the story. If he's paired with someone, that person won't have much of an impact on the story. These one-shots, while based on my story _Fragments_ , are not part of that verse, though they fall under its umbrella. If you aren't following that story, all you need to know is that Kurt is psychic; he can see and speak with the dead.

Provenza stared at the murder board with contempt plain on his face, eyes darkening as they fell on the pictures of the four victims, all of whom were young girls. White, blond, and blue-eyed, between the ages of six and nine, they were textbook examples of the ideal American child.

He wiped tired eyes with a hand. Christ, he hated when it was kids.

He grunted, shook his head, and gulped another slug of his tepid coffee, eyes catching those of Flynn, who was likewise staring at the board, a toothpick rolling back and forth across his lips.

They grimaced at each other, at the futility of their efforts in the case so far, at their ineffectiveness to apprehend the perpetrator, and the fact that they had put in so much overtime in the past three weeks they were too tired to spend the extra cash. The only one even more exhausted than they was Captain Raydor, which had gone a long way in them forming some measure of respect for the woman, though they still didn't like her.

Provenza smirked at Amy Sykes, the newest detective in their Major Crimes squad. Her face was drawn and wan, and dark circles appeared permanently etched under her normally bright and overeager eyes. She was mumbling under her breath as she frantically read and reread every file they had pertaining to the case.

Now Sykes he _did_ like. She had the makings of a fine detective, though he would never tell her so. She had a long way to go before she would approach even the level of Daniels, who had departed several years ago for Homeland Security, and she was so far out of Raydor's league that it was ridiculous. Still, she had potential, and he was determined to help her maximize it - albeit quietly and with considerable hazing.

Granted, she'd never match the Chief's brilliance, but outside of Sherlock fucking Holmes, few ever could.

He blinked. Damn. He hoped he'd remembered to TiVo the new episode of _Elementary_. Lucy Liu was his kind of woman.

He missed the Chief. He couldn't help but think that, had she still been with them, this case would have been wrapped up a while ago. He supposed he held Raydor partially responsible for driving the Chief away, even though he knew that was unreasonable and even irrational. In the end, Raydor had proved she was one of the few outside the squad who had been squarely in the Chief's corner.

"Fucking Pope," he mumbled.

Flynn snorted as Tao looked up from his computer and grinned.

Sanchez then appeared with fresh coffee, Buzz trailing behind with a box of donuts.

Rusty Beck looked up from his homework at the desk he had commandeered and smiled at Buzz. They traded barbs like it was their new religion, but Rusty knew Buzz liked him.

Raydor stormed out of her office, wincing at the sound of her heels on the floor, and looked tersely around the room.

"Anything?" she demanded, a subtle note of desperation tingeing her voice. She sighed at the shakes of heads.

And, then, a song from heaven, one delivered in an annoying Georgia drawl, rang out.

"Yoo-hoo!"

 

* * *

 

"Lieutenant!" Brenda gushed, pulling a blushing and slightly bewildered Provenza into a hug.

"Chief," he rumbled. "You look good. _Rested_."

"And you look like crap!" she said cheerfully.

He stared at her and then burst into slightly hysterical laughter.

Brenda beamed and shoved him aside, exchanging hugs with Tao and Flynn, and kisses on the cheek with Buzz and Sanchez. Provenza noticed Sanchez waggling his brows at him, so he flipped the man off.

"Brenda!"

"Rusty Beck!" Brenda shrieked, opening her arms wide and laughing when the boy dove into them. "Why, look at you! You clean up real nice."

Rusty tittered and smoothed down the shirt of his school uniform.

"St. Joseph?" she prompted. "Good for you, Rusty. You're way too smart to be hanging out on some street corner." She then completed his humiliation by pinching his cheek.

Rusty, however, didn't care, smiling widely at her. Brenda Johnson was a complicated woman, but he liked her. He'd given her nothing but shit, and she'd given it right back to him with a smirk on her face. She'd seen through his crap, hadn't put up with it, and told him where to shove it. He respected her.

"It's all thanks to Sharon," he mumbled, blushing lightly.

"That doesn't surprise me in the slightest," Brenda said, patting his shoulder.

"Hello, Chief," Raydor said warmly.

Brenda spun on her ridiculously high heel and grinned. "Hey, Sharon," she said.

They didn't hug, that wasn't them, but they were obviously happy to see one another.

Brenda wrapped an arm around Rusty's shoulders and drew him close. "You do good work, Captain Raydor."

A small, pleased smile appeared on Sharon's face, and it was apparent that Brenda's approval, though unneeded, was nevertheless welcomed.

"What brings you back to your old stomping grounds?" she asked.

Brenda waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, just some paperwork on an old case that needed my signature." She looked around. "So, how you all doing?"

"Honestly?" Sharon asked, arching a brow. "We've been better."

A frown crossed Brenda's face and, just as she was about to start an interrogation, her eyes fell on the person who had accompanied her.

"Oh! I'd like you all to meet my nephew, Kurt," she said, smile back in full force. "Kurt! Come over here!"

A moderately tall though slender boy, obviously shy, crept toward her side, his eyes trained on the floor and his own footsteps the entire time. He was aware of the scrutiny aimed at him, but appeared unruffled by it, more consumed by his own thoughts.

He was very attractive, but not in the conventional sense, much like Brenda herself. His hair was dark and shiny, with every strand in place. His skin was enviably flawless and well-maintained.

The squad immediately began cataloging the physical similarities between the Chief and her nephew: both were thin; strong chins and a defined jaw line; high, prominent cheekbones; full lips.

"Everyone," she continued, "this is Kurt Hummel. Now, Kurt is actually my cousin, but we refer to each other as nephew and aunt for the sake of ease."

Kurt gave her the side-eye. "I call you my aunt because you're old," he said, voice soft and high and musical.

Rusty, Flynn, and Sanchez burst out laughing. Provenza's only concession to his amusement was the twitching of his lips. Sykes stared at all of them with wide eyes.

Sharon's eyes danced with merriment. "Now I see the family resemblance."

Brenda turned to glare at Kurt and they began arguing. Loudly, and in German.

This only made the others laugh that much harder. To see Brenda Leigh Johnson meeting her match, in a member of her own family no less, was delicious to behold.

As Kurt and Brenda stood opposite each other, feet firmly planted and hands on their hips, they began switching languages at a dizzying pace. The fact that they were using tongues which the other didn't know was of no interest to them. Kurt slipped into French, while Brenda parried with Russian. He segued into Italian, and she countered with Czech.

Just as their frustration with each other was reaching epic proportions, a smirk spread across Kurt's face. He looked to Sanchez and began complaining about his aunt, or cousin, in Spanish. Sanchez's laughter went from loud guffaws to breathless shrieks as he collapsed in his chair and held his head in his hands, giggling every time Kurt's mouth unleashed another clever and cutting rejoinder.

Brenda stomped her foot in a bid of childish pique. "Ooh! Kurty, that is _not_ fair!" she whined. "You know I don't speak Spanish!"

"That would be the point," he explained. "Further, after living in Los Angeles for seven years, you have no good excuse as to why you haven't learned the language."

Brenda worried at her lip, obviously perturbed by his excellent argument.

"Especially considering the fact that Uncle Fritz _does_ know Spanish," he continued. "You should have had him instruct you." When she began pouting, he rolled his eyes. "I'll teach you some Portuguese phrases later so that we can talk about Uncle Fritz behind his back while right in front of him."

Her eyes lighted and she barely managed to refrain from clapping with joy. "What would I ever do without you?" she cooed.

"You would be much worse dressed than you are now," he promptly replied.

She scowled.

"Perhaps Captain Raydor could give you some fashion advice after I leave," he slyly suggested.

Brenda curled her lip as Sharon pressed her own tightly together.

Sharon extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet to you, Kurt. Chief Johnson has told us nothing about you."

He quirked a brow and took his hand in her own. "That would be because I have in my possession many embarrassing pictures."

"As do I," Brenda said darkly.

Kurt merely shrugged. "I was, and still am, adorable, and you know it."

"Damn!" Brenda seethed.

Sharon suppressed a snicker. Rusty, Flynn, and Sanchez didn't bother.

"My name..." Sharon began.

"Captain Sharon Raydor," Kurt politely interrupted, nodding and releasing her hand. He then began working his way around the room. "Your ward, Rusty Beck, a material witness in the upcoming trial of a serial rapist and murderer."

He paused and considered Rusty more carefully, causing the other boy to blush.

Kurt's attention to Rusty made Buzz wary, while Provenza and Flynn raised their eyebrows at each other. Sanchez smirked.

"Lieutenant Detectives Louis Provenza and Andrew Flynn, and Detective Julio Sanchez," he continued, "and, yes, I'm gay."

Provenza's eyes widened, Flynn's mouth fell open, and Sanchez blinked. Kurt hadn't even been looking at them, so how did he know?

Now it was Brenda's turn to smirk.

"Lieutenant Detective Michael Tao," Kurt added, inclining his head at the man's nod, "and Surveillance Coordinator Buzz Watson." He then stared at Sykes, who realized the boy would have no reason to know who she was, given that she had joined the squad after Chief Johnson's departure.

"I'm Detective..."

"Amy Sykes," Kurt finished.

She blinked.

"That family resemblance is stronger than ever," Sharon quietly noted.

Brenda turned toward her. "Kurt is staying with me and Fritz while he looks at colleges on the West Coast," she explained.

As Sharon launched into Rusty's future prospects, much to the boy's mortification, they began exchanging lamentations over living with teenagers. The others began quietly talking amongst themselves.

"College?" Rusty asked Kurt. "Aren't you like, fifteen?"

"Seventeen," Kurt said. "I've narrowed down my choices, but I want to look at the campuses before making my final decision."

"Where are you looking?" Tao asked.

"Stanford and USC," Brenda said proudly.

"Not Harvard?" Provenza muttered.

"I got into Harvard," Kurt said absently, walking past him.

Flynn chuckled.

Provenza rolled his eyes.

Rusty stared at Kurt with fascination, stoking Buzz's worry. As much as he bitched and moaned about having to look after the kid while in the office, he felt protective of Rusty, as all of them now did.

"I don't even know the degree," Brenda babbled to Sharon. "We're technically third cousins, or first cousins twice removed, or however such nonsense works." She shrugged. "But he's my family, and I love him." She leaned in. "He's one of the few people with whom I get along."

Sharon smirked. "I can't imagine why that is."

Brenda gave her a nasty look, which Sharon ignored with good humor.

The others began drifting over toward them, asking Brenda how she was, whether she liked her new job, and how Gabriel was getting along. He was skittish about keeping in touch, despite assurances from Provenza and Sanchez that all was forgiven. They didn't ask about Fritz, only because they saw him on a regular basis.

As Brenda extolled over her new position, the challenges she faced, and how her new staff was completely incompetent, they were warmed. They missed her a great deal, and while Raydor was admittedly capable, she was wasn't Brenda.

After several moments, Rusty nudged Buzz and then cocked his head toward Kurt, who was studying the murder board with keen interest.

"Uh, Chief," Buzz softly interrupted, "should he be looking at that?"

Brenda looked at him in confusion before turning to see Kurt, who was obviously otherwise engaged. She merely shrugged.

"Chief..." Sharon said quietly.

Brenda waved her off. "Kurt is a Special Consultant with the Office of the District Attorney for Montgomery County in Ohio. He's partnered with a detective in Dayton Homicide. He fully understands the nature of confidentiality and the strict privacy measures which must be maintained in ongoing investigations. You can trust him completely."

"Excuse me?" asked a floored Sharon.

"Consultant?" repeated a stunned Tao.

"Huh?" demanded Sanchez.

"That is so cool," whispered an awed Rusty. He looked at Sharon. "Can I get a job like that?"

Her mouth fell open.

"Is anyone really that surprised?" Provenza drawled.

Sykes, who had remained at her desk, looked up at Kurt. "You're a consultant?" she asked dubiously.

He passed her his badge in reply, not taking his eyes from the board.

"This is real!" she exclaimed, running her hand over it, before flipping it over and examining the identification card.

Brenda really wished she had been better prepared for this. She should have planned accordingly, of course, but had other things on her mind. She'd been so distracted of late that she hadn't thought twice about dragging Kurt along with her to the police plaza that day. Still, she hadn't revealed anything that wasn't public knowledge, and she wouldn't have put it past the members of her old team, Provenza and Flynn especially, to have looked Kurt up once they had departed.

"Now, now. Let's not make a big deal out of this," she admonished.

Flynn's eyes bulged. "Are you joking? We're going to make a _huge_ deal out of this!"

"How on earth did he get such a position?" Sharon wondered.

"Kurt is...very skilled," Brenda said diplomatically.

The others, however, long used to her diversionary tactics and knowing when she didn't wish to discuss something, weren't about to let it go. Just as the arguing voices were about to reach a fevered crescendo, Kurt interrupted.

"Aunt Brenda's an interrogator," he said softly, so much so that they had to strain to hear him. "I'm an observer."

"Observer?" several said, seizing upon the proffered information.

"I observe," Kurt said, his eyes never straying from the board before him as he soaked in the details. "Crime scenes, interrogations, depositions, trials." He gave a mild shrug. "I observe people. What they say and, more importantly, how they say it. Their tone of voice, their choice of words, the pauses in their speech. Do they stutter? If so, over which words?"

They stared at his back.

"Are their silences peaceful and contemplative, or predatory and anticipatory? Do they sweat? Does their Adam's apple bob? Does the vein in their forehead pulse? Are their hands clammy?"

The others exchanged startled looks, blinking.

"Do they play with their hair? Do they obsessively look at their watch? Do their fingers twitch in search of a cigarette? Are their eyes bleary and unfocused? Where do they look, and why? Do they feel guilt? If so, for what?"

"You're a human lie detector," Flynn marveled.

Kurt looked over his shoulder and nodded. "Essentially, yes." He raised a brow. "Incidentally, Lieutenant Flynn, your suit is lovely. Tasteful and elegant, well-tailored, but functional and appropriate."

Flynn stared.

"You're vain," Kurt continued, "and I suppose you should be. You're a very handsome man who is well aware of his own attractiveness. You're also intelligent, far more so than most people realize. You hide behind your machismo and good old boy attitude, but your sense of fairness is absolute. You silently rage over the things you've seen. You're disgusted by the violence people willingly commit against each other. You respect the law, but also recognize that it can be an impediment to justice."

"What the hell?" barked a flustered Flynn, backing up a step.

"You're a good man, Lieutenant Flynn," Kurt said. "Everyone here knows it, even if you don't."

"What are you?" Flynn demanded.

"Observant," Kurt replied. He then turned and studied Provenza, who narrowed his eyes. "You have a spot of mustard on your shirt cuff. The color suggests Grey Poupon." He nodded to himself. "You had a roast beef sandwich with grilled onions for lunch."

Provenza frowned.

"On a Kaiser roll."

Provenza stared.

"Toasted."

Provenza's mouth fell open.

"I can smell the onions," Kurt said. "I can smell the beef in your dried sweat. The texture of the crumbs still on your tie tells me the type of roll and that it was toasted. By the way, that tie is ridiculous."

Provenza scoffed.

"You miss Aunt Brenda the most," he added. "You resent the Captain for taking over the squad, but not because you wanted the position for yourself. You feel Captain Raydor helped drive away my aunt." He shrugged. "That may be partially true, I don't know. Aunt Brenda doesn't discuss her departure with anyone. Regardless, you respect Captain Raydor, and you know she tried to do right by Aunt Brenda. That she was, in fact, one of the few who did."

Provenza merely raised a brow, not commenting on the boy's rather astute _observations_.

"It's Assistant Chief Taylor and Chief Pope you hold responsible," Kurt said. He smirked. "It may please you to know that I've made their acquaintance, and I used my...parlor tricks...to unseat them thoroughly, revealing far more interesting and dangerous information about them than I have here about all of you."

Sanchez smirked.

"It wasn't well received," Kurt added. "Assistant Chief Taylor tried to intimidate me, but I stared him down. Chief Pope actually ran away from me and hid in his office."

Provenza blinked, then threw back his head and cackled.

"I like you," he wheezed, wiping away tears of mirth.

"It probably won't last," Kurt deadpanned.

Provenza only laughed harder.

Kurt noticed that Sanchez, Sykes, Buzz, and Rusty were now pointedly not looking at him. He bit his lip and sighed. "I'm sorry, Aunt Brenda," he said mournfully. "I did it again."

Brenda hurried over to his side. "Oh, now, honey, you didn't do anything wrong. I should've kept my fat mouth shut."

Kurt shook his head sadly.

"You hush, baby," Brenda said. "If anyone knows how hard it is to turn off, it's these people. You just caught them by surprise, that's all. It's not every day you come across someone as young as you who is so capable. No one's judging you."

"I am," Flynn said bluntly. "The kid's good. Damn good."

Provenza nodded.

"How long have you been doing this, Kurt?" Sharon asked, voice light.

"I began working at the District Attorney's office when I was fifteen," Kurt said. He paused. "I have tremendous respect for what you do, for the horrors you willingly face to serve and protect. Members of law enforcement, I've found, often do not get the credit for being the heroes that you are."

Brenda blushed, swatted his shoulder, and mumbled incoherently.

"Do you plan to make it your career?" Sharon asked, resting a hip against Flynn's desk, now intensely curious about this young man. "Your skills are very impressive."

Kurt shook his head. "Only tangentially. I plan to study criminology in college, but my goal is medicine; specifically, forensic pathology. I have an aunt who is a forensic pathologist at the Jeffersonian, and Aunt Brenda has arranged for me to speak with Dr. Morales and shadow him for a few hours."

Sharon blinked. "The Jeffersonian? Is your aunt Camille Saroyan?" she asked.

Kurt nodded. "Aunt Cam is my late mother's sister. I usually visit her for a few weeks every summer, and will be spending time with her starting in June."

She looked at Brenda. "I had no idea you were related to Dr. Saroyan."

"Oh, I'm not," Brenda said. "Kurt's father, Burt, is my cousin, while Cam is the sister of Kurt's mama. We're not related, but we've met before, when I was living in DC. She does good work."

"So law enforcement runs on both sides of your family," Sanchez said to Kurt, who nodded.

"Yes," he said, shooting a sly look at Sharon, "and to answer your unasked question, Cam is my aunt, even though I'm white and she's black." He gave a mild shrug. "Family stuff."

Sharon quirked her lips and inclined her head. "Family is what you make of it."

"Exactly," Kurt said, beaming, and pressing a quick kiss to Brenda's cheek, causing her to giggle.

"Do you have any thoughts on our current case?" Sharon asked carefully, gesturing toward the murder board.

Kurt frowned.

"Captain..." Brenda warned.

"Off the record?" Kurt asked.

Sharon nodded. "Of course."

"There are four victims so far?" Kurt asked, turning to his side and glancing at the board.

"Yes," Sykes said, "but there's no discernible pattern to the kidnappings. These girls, despite looking alike, have nothing in common as far as we can tell. Their families are unrelated; they don't even know each other. The kids didn't go to the same school, nor did they participate in the same activities. No common friends or acquaintances."

"Their parents don't work in the same industries," Tao added. "The girls didn't share a pediatrician, a teacher, a ballet class, or a babysitter. The families don't use the same plumber, mechanic, or attorney. They don't go to the same library, the same post office, or the same bank. There are absolutely no commonalities that we can determine."

Kurt hummed noncommittally and continued staring at the board.

"What do you see?" Brenda quietly prompted, obviously disturbed by the case.

Kurt tilted his head. "Were the bodies discovered in the same location?"

"No," Provenza groused, "and there's no forensic evidence that's of any use."

"Were the bodies covered?" Kurt asked. "Specifically, the faces?"

Sharon flinched and stepped forward. "Yes."

"I presume there was no evidence of sexual assault."

"Yeah," Flynn said, "and that's what we don't get. Why take the girls if that's not what he wanted? Why kill them if he didn't do anything to them? Why not just release them?"

Kurt nodded to himself. "Has anyone here seen _The Silence of the Lambs_?"

"I have!" Rusty piped up.

"When Clarice Starling was chasing Buffalo Bill, what did Hannibal Lecter tell her about the killer's motive?"

Rusty frowned and searched his memory. "He covets," he finally said, triumph ringing in his voice.

"And what do we covet?" Kurt asked.

Rusty blinked. "We covet...what we see every day."

Kurt nodded. "The killer knew them," he said flatly, "and they knew him, at least well enough to extend to him a conditional level of trust. The lack of sexual assault doesn't indicate that the interest is not there, only that he doesn't have the courage to commit the act.

"He wants to, but he can't bring himself to do it. He knows he's a pedophile, but he doesn't want to be. It frustrates him, and that frustration culminates with the murders. He directs the frustration at the children, killing them because he irrationally blames them for his failure. He's then shamed by his actions. He covers their faces so that they can't see him, so that they can't judge him."

He looked at Provenza. "Is the violence escalating with each murder?"

"Yeah," the man said, suspicion in his tone.

"He's becoming more enraged by his own inability, working his way up to rape. His lag time will shorten with each kill, as he becomes more and more inured to murder. He will start to crave it, and he will become more sloppy. It's imperative you catch him now."

"And how do we do that?" Flynn demanded.

"He's already kidnapped the next victim," Kurt said decidedly.

All of the oxygen was sucked from the room.

"How do you know?" Sharon asked.

"Because it's logical," Kurt said. "He has a feel for it now. He's discovering what works and what doesn't, what excites him and adds to the thrill. Every day that passes, his conscience recedes more and more from his awareness. He's becoming so consumed by his paraphilia, that he can think of nothing else but sating it."

He frowned. "Pedophiles usually have a type, and that type is obvious here. They tend to stick to their own ethnic groups." He paused. "You're looking for a white male, between twenty-five and forty years of age. He's of average or below-average intelligence, and most likely works a menial job. He probably lives with his parents or a family member. He likely has no siblings, or one who passed away when he was a child. I'm betting on a sister, one who looks just like these girls."

Kurt nodded. "He was probably involved in her death. I'm not suggesting that he killed her, though he probably wanted to. It was most likely an accidental death to which he unwittingly contributed, perhaps a push down a flight of stairs. It's highly probable that the sister died before he could enact his fantasies, so he's taking these girls not only because they remind him of his sister, but because he wants to rewrite history. He wants to have them before they die, but he can't yet bring himself to cross that line."

"Jesus Christ," Sanchez muttered.

"As Rusty said," Kurt continued, "we covet what we see every day, and we all know that, with pedophiles, it's about access." He blinked. "Were the children, or their families, of the same faith?"

"They didn't go to the same church," Sykes said.

Kurt shook his head. "That's not what I asked. Did they share the same religion? Were the girls Catholic, for example?"

Tao began thumbing through his reports. "They were all Christian, I'm sure."

"What denomination?" Kurt asked. "Episcopalian? Presbyterian? Methodist?"

Sharon hurried over to Tao to assist him. After several long moments, she looked up and stared at Kurt. "Episcopalian."

He nodded. "White male, of average of below-average intelligence, with a menial job," he reiterated. "It's highly likely that he shares some physical characteristics with the victims, probably blond hair and blue eyes. He saw them at services, so he has a job that allows him to travel to different Episcopalian churches, perhaps as a janitor or caretaker, possibly even an assistant deacon. It's probable that he wanted to enter the church as a pastor or some other official, but was denied, most likely because of a psychological evaluation."

He looked around the room. "I would suggest you start with their churches and interview the pastors about temporary or transitory staff."

Raydor blinked, shook herself out of a stupor, and quickly gave assignments, dispatching Provenza, Flynn, Sykes, and Sanchez, all of whom hurried from the room, pausing to say their goodbyes to Brenda and looking at Kurt with a curious mixture of respect and awe. Tao left to confer with Morales. Buzz ushered Rusty back to his desk to finish his homework, though it was obvious he was far more interested in Kurt.

Sharon stepped closely to Kurt and Brenda. "If this works..."

"It will work," Brenda said quietly.

Sharon considered her.

"This goes no further than the three of us?" Brenda pressed.

Sharon nodded. "Of course."

Brenda looked at Kurt and nodded.

Kurt sighed and turned to Sharon, plainly wary. "His name is Matthew Baker. He's a caretaker at St. Alban's on Hilgard, in Westwood. He's twenty-eight, with dirty-blond hair and blue eyes. He'll start his shift in three hours. He won't be late. He prides himself on his job. The girl he's taken, Katherine Brown, will be in the basement, in a locked room. He's only just taken her, her parents don't yet know she's missing. She's six. He'll do nothing to her until after he completes his work."

Sharon's eyes bulged and she began sputtering.

"No questions, Captain Raydor," Brenda hissed, looking discreetly around the room. "None of the information you have just been given can be verified prior to discovery. There is nothing that will give you probable cause for a warrant. You have no reason to haul Baker in for questioning. As of this moment, there is nothing you can legally do to him, because you would have to explain why he's a person of interest, and you can't." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sharon stared at her, and then at Kurt, and slowly nodded.

Kurt exhaled quietly. "Thank you."

"The things we've seen, Sharon," Brenda softly murmured, "the horrors we've witnessed, are nothing compared to what he sees, to the images he has in his head. He does this work because he has to, because he has no choice unless he wants to go insane. Don't make him regret this, or I swear I will make you regret your entire existence up to this point."

She swallowed heavily. "We will never understand. We wouldn't want to." She shook her head. "Regardless, Kurt has to be protected. You can't even imagine what would happen were word to leak out - all of the cases he's closed, all of the criminals he's put in jail, the people with whom he works - it would all fall under scrutiny it couldn't withstand." She forced a smile. "After all, we all know there's no such thing as psychics, don't we?"

"Dear god," Sharon whispered. "Chief, Kurt, you have my assurance that this will never go beyond me. I promise you that."

Brenda and Kurt nodded, murmured their thanks, and Brenda gave Sharon a quick hug.

"Kurt will be in town until the end of the week," she said in Sharon's ear. "Let us know how everything goes."

"Yes, of course," Sharon said briskly, pulling away. "Please do give my best to Special Agent Howard."

"I will," Brenda said brightly, waving to Buzz and Rusty, who waved back.

"It was very nice to meet you," Kurt said quietly to Sharon.

"And you, Kurt," she said, taking his hand in her own. "We will never be able to thank you enough. You've saved several lives today."

He grinned sardonically. "So have you."

Sharon blinked, but before she could reply, Kurt and Brenda had sailed out of the room.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Pope emerged from the hallway the corner, only to turn around quickly when he caught sight of Kurt. She laughed.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, Major Crimes had Matthew Baker dead to rights, and this was one case on which Sharon was unwilling to compromise, much to the chagrin of Chief Pope and DDA Hobbs.

Baker had been caught red-handed and was only too happy to tell everyone within earshot of his crimes, actually wanting to be locked away, unable to harm any other children. He had revealed the location of the storage facility he had used to commit the murders, and the forensic evidence had spoken for itself.

Katherine Brown had been saved and returned to her parents, traumatized, but thankfully not sexually assaulted or dead. The squad had been pleased, absurdly grateful to Kurt Hummel, though they mourned for the children Baker had senselessly slaughtered.

Sharon had conceded to Hobbs taking the death sentence off the table, if only to avoid the publicity and misplaced sympathy such cases aroused. Baker's attorney had tried to wheedle a deal in which his client would serve concurrent life sentences, but Raydor had been unyielding, demanding and receiving consecutive terms without the possibility of parole.

It was a win, but had come at a heavy cost.

Kurt Hummel was on the minds of the entire squad, but Raydor in particular. She would never have been so stupid as to dismiss Brenda Johnson's threat - she well understood the woman could, and would, deliver on it. Sharon was confident they most likely would have apprehended Baker without Kurt's assistance, but not so quickly, and certainly not without the loss of Katherine Brown's life. For that alone, she would be eternally thankful.

Still, Brenda's words had shattered beliefs Sharon hadn't realized she'd even held. She had been in the game long enough to become familiar with alleged psychics, particularly the ones who hung about police stations like groupies, weaving illusory yarns about shadow men and dark places.

Her experience with Kurt had been drastically different. For one, from the moment he had spoken Matthew Baker's name, Sharon had believed him - utterly and with no second thought. There hadn't been even a moment of doubt, which, as she looked back upon her reaction, was rather shocking to her. Never would she have believed herself to be a gullible person, or one susceptible to supposedly psychic phenomena.

But that hadn't really been the case here, had it? There had been no crystal ball, no tarot cards or navel gazing, no phony seizures. She had been offered the confident words of a young man who had unflinchingly met her eyes, daring her to disbelieve his sincerity - and she hadn't.

She hadn't.

Her time with Rusty had reawakened maternal feelings, which, though not shut away, had been relegated to the backburner. She couldn't help but wonder what it was that Kurt saw, how he experienced his visions or dreams or whatever they were. Did he receive vibes or impressions? Or was he subjected to scenes of unspeakable brutality and pointless violence? She was betting on the latter, and it sickened her.

It enraged her that a young man, practically still a child, was forced to bear to witness to such heinous crimes. He should be off planning for college, for his life, and she guessed that he was, but the fact of the matter was that his world revolved around violence. She, Brenda, and their colleagues had chosen that life, determined to make a difference. Kurt hadn't been given a choice; he had been forced into it by something probably no one, including Kurt himself, understood.

She didn't know what she would have done had it been Rusty. She couldn't imagine how Brenda dealt with it. When Brenda had looked at Kurt, however, Sharon had seen nothing in her eyes but love and devotion, and though she wasn't surprised Brenda was capable of such heartfelt emotion, she was surprised Brenda had allowed others to see it.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the pounding on her office door.

"Come in," she called, looking up from her desk. "May I help you, Lieutenant?"

Provenza grunted, his default mode of speech. "We're going out to dinner. Not to celebrate, but to acknowledge that it's over. You and the kid are coming."

She raised a brow. "All right," she said slowly, hiding a smile. "I'm sure Rusty will enjoy it. Thank you for including us."

"We want to invite the Chief and her nephew, too," he added, all but daring her to contradict him.

She nodded. "A good idea. I know Kurt is leaving in a few days, and we really should thank him."

Provenza nodded and turned to leave, only to stop in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Is he what I think he is?"

"I don't know what you think," she said honestly, "but I do know that it would dangerous, to our case and to all the others on which Kurt has worked, to offer pointless speculation." She spread her hands on her desk. "And then there's Chief Johnson to consider."

He nodded and she saw the fear in his eyes, knowing she could never hope to instill the same within him. She had no wish to do so, of course, that simply wasn't her, but as she watched him shuffle back out to the bullpen, her respect for Brenda Johnson only grew.

Sharon Raydor knew she was a good cop. She was smart, practical yet intuitive, and knew the rules better than anyone. She was more than competent at her job. That aside, she knew Brenda Johnson was in an entirely different league.

Until this week, she would have argued that there was no one better. Now she knew differently, and she wasn't at all surprised that the only person who could surpass Brenda was related to the woman.

 

* * *

 

They had agreed to meet at a relatively inexpensive - well, for Los Angeles - restaurant that was nevertheless warm and inviting. Sharon noted with dismay the advertisement for karaoke. Knowing Lieutenant Provenza's love for the activity, she gathered this evening wouldn't end well and was thankful for the Tylenol she had in her purse.

She and Rusty were the last to arrive - Buzz couldn't join them until later - and were directed to their party. Sharon was very interested in watching how Rusty would interact with Kurt, considering the boy hadn't shut up about the other for the past few days.

Not for the first time, she wondered about Rusty's sexuality. She was well aware he had hustled, but she didn't know whether or not he was actually gay, or if he had turned tricks for men simply because that was where the money was to be found. She would never ask him, wouldn't press for him to explain himself, but she wondered.

After they had closed the case, she had called Brenda to advise her of what had happened, and she had dropped some subtle questions about Kurt. Brenda had been as reluctant to discuss her nephew as Sharon was to discuss her ward, but had revealed that Kurt was involved with another boy and had been for the past two years. Apparently, the boyfriend would be following Kurt, once he decided on a college. She'd explained this to Rusty, who could've cared less, which left her confused as to whether Rusty had a crush on Kurt or was simply in awe of him.

They wandered in to the large room and followed the sound of Provenza's gravelly voice.

"Taylor and Pope declined to attend," he drawled, smirking and looking at Kurt. "Can't imagine why."

Kurt snickered and leaned over to whisper something in Provenza ear, causing the man to burst out laughing. Despite the desperate prompting of the others, he wouldn't say what Kurt had told him, only shaking his head as tears of laughter rolled down his heavily flushed face.

"Sorry we're late," Sharon said wryly, gracefully dropping into a seat next to Fritz Howard and pulling Rusty with her. "Hello, Agent Howard."

Fritz smiled. "We're off the clock, Sharon. It's Fritz."

She smiled and nodded her head. "Hello, Brenda, Kurt."

"Sharon," Brenda said warmly.

"Hello, Captain Raydor," Kurt said, still smirking at Provenza, whose laughter continued unabated.

Rusty waved.

They placed their orders with a harried waitress and fell into easy chatter. Rusty monopolized most of Kurt's attention, mainly asking about schoolwork and what life was like in Ohio. Kurt had replied that it was utterly boring and he was looking forward to getting out.

"Is this your first time in Los Angeles, Kurt?" Sharon asked.

He shook his head. "I was here two years ago for a competition."

"Oh? What kind?"

"Cheerleading," he replied. "I'm my squad's captain..."

"Family resemblance," Flynn interrupted.

"I was never a cheerleader!" Brenda heatedly exclaimed.

Kurt smiled. "Oh, yes, you were, and I have the pictures to prove it.''

"Damn!"

"We won Nationals that year, and last year," he continued, "and will be defending our title in a few months in Miami."

Tao was impressed. "Your team is ranked first in the country?" At the others' surprised looks, he shrugged. "Kevin has friends on the football team, and I've been to a few games. Most people don't appreciate how difficult cheerleading is, or the level of athleticism it demands. It combines gymnastics, tumbling, and synchronized dancing. It's tough."

Kurt nodded, pleased. "It is, yes, and especially for our team."

"Why?" Rusty asked, looking Kurt up and down and trying to determine just how limber he was.

"We sing while we perform."

"Sing?" Provenza repeated, a gleam in his eye. "You sing?"

Kurt nodded again. "I'm also a member of my school's glee club. We won our Sectionals meet this year and will be vying for the national title in New York, shortly after I finish with the Cheerios."

"You do all that plus hold down a job?" Flynn asked.

"I'm very lucky in that I'm able to set my own hours, and Justine, my partner, and my boss, Liza, are kind enough to make sure that I'm allowed that time. It's a volunteer position, anyway. I'm not paid. If I need money, I work in Dad's shop."

"What kind of shop?" Julio asked.

"I'm a mechanic," Kurt said with pride. "Fully certified."

Flynn held up a hand. "Wait a minute. You're in law enforcement, you sing, you're a mechanic, and you're a gymnast?" He shook his head. "Why the hell wasn't I born gay?" He blinked. "Wait."

As the others laughed, Sharon registered Kurt's words and choked on her wine. "Liza?" she repeated. "Montgomery County, Ohio? Do you mean you work for Liza Capwell?"

Kurt smirked. "I take it you've heard of her?"

Sharon rolled her eyes. "We've had...some exchanges."

He nodded. "That's a good word for it. I'll have to remember that the next time I'm trying to describe my interactions with her."

"So what's the deal with this Capwell chick?" Provenza asked.

Sharon snorted. "If you thought I was bad, you should meet her. She gives new meaning to the words _officious bitch_." She looked at Kurt and smiled. "No offense."

He held up his hands. "None taken." He smiled. "I may have pulled the same routine with her a few times that I did with Pope and Taylor."

"Good," Sharon purred, baring her teeth.

"I think Liza's a lovely woman," Brenda huffed.

"You would," said both Sharon and Kurt, who looked at each other and then began laughing.

Brenda harrumphed.

"So when are you leaving, Kurt?" Tao asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon," the boy replied.

"Are you going back to Ohio?" Rusty asked.

Kurt opened his mouth, then closed it and considered his response.

Brenda narrowed her eyes. "Kurt?" she prompted.

He sighed. "Yes, I'm going back to Ohio."

" _But?_ "

"But first, I'm stopping off in Sacramento."

"No, you're not," she insisted, her tone brooking no argument.

"Aunt Brenda..."

"Don't you _Aunt Brenda_ me!" she exclaimed, wagging a finger in his face. "I don't want you anywhere near that man."

"What man?" Rusty asked.

Kurt turned toward him. "I'm going to visit my uncle. He's a consultant with the CBI."

Fritz blinked. "CBI?" He stared at Kurt. "Not Patrick Jane?" He turned to Brenda. "You're related to him?"

"Barely," she seethed, "and not by choice. No, Kurt."

"It's not your decision, Aunt Brenda," he said, with steel in his voice.

"He's a conman, Kurt!"

"Not anymore!" he protested. "If anyone's a conman, it's Uncle Neal."

She rolled her eyes. "That's beside the point! Patrick has a serial killer after him!"

The table exploded with concern.

Brenda slammed her hand on the table. "He hasn't spoken with any of us in almost ten years, Kurt. He won't even acknowledge his own family."

His eyes glowed with anger. "And you know why that is. He doesn't want to endanger any of us. You've read the reports, Aunt Brenda, I _know_ you have. You know what he's been through, what that bastard did to Aunt Angela and Charlie!"

Brenda instantly reined herself in, dropping her head. "I know," she whispered, "and it's appalling, and I certainly give Patrick credit for his work, but we both know his aims are not altruistic. The _only_ reason he joined the CBI was to get the inside track on Red John."

"Red John," Flynn whispered. "Holy fuck."

"He's like us, Aunt Brenda," Kurt said flatly. "He's a closer. I don't care why he does it. I don't care if he's only interested in chasing down the sadistic monster who butchered his family and continues to taunt him. We both know what we would do were we in his shoes."

That shut her up, and she nervously twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

"I'm not going after Red John," Kurt said more sedately, "nor do I plan on drawing his attention. I'll look at the files only if Uncle Patrick asks, and we both know he won't, but I'm tired of this. He didn't give me a choice when he just cut us all off, and now that I'm of age, I'm going to go up there and knock some sense into him; literally, if necessary."

She sighed.

"If he asked you for help, would you give it?"

She nodded sadly. "Yes, of course, but he never will."

He nodded in kind. "But we're still family. That counts."

"Yes," she softly agreed, "it does. All right, I'll drop it."

"Brenda!" Fritz hissed.

"There's no point," she said, sighing. "Kurt's going to do what he wants to do, and that's the end of it. He's like a person that way."

Kurt smirked.

Fritz just shook his head, but let it go. He would be making some calls, though.

"Your family is unbelievable," Rusty said to Kurt.

Kurt's eyes sparkled. "You have no idea."

 

* * *

 

After being forced to listen to Provenza murder a Brenda Lee - pun intended - song, the others, heavily pushed by a whiny Rusty, signed up for their own numbers, though Sharon refrained, finally having to threaten to draw her gun.

Brenda and Fritz sang together, a horrifying rendition of Elton John and Kiki Dee's _Don't Go Breaking My Heart_ , which drew loud guffaws and cheerful boos from their delighted audience.

Flynn sang a Frank Sinatra number and was surprisingly good, which led to a good-natured ribbing from Provenza, who was clearly jealous and just as determined not to let it show.

Sykes had to be pushed - literally - by Provenza up onto the stage, where she proceeded to sing a Jordin Sparks song to much acclaim, though clearly nervous the entire time. After she slunk back to the table, her blush deepened as Kurt gushed over her performance, much to Rusty's annoyance.

Tao sang a Barry Manilow tune, but delivered it in such a manner that it instead became a comedy routine. No one could tell whether or not it had been on purpose, and Tao wasn't telling.

Sanchez sang a Spanish ballad with which no one was familiar, save Kurt. Julio had a truly lovely voice, deep and raspy but full of emotion and with a strong vibrato. Kurt and Sharon led the applause, much to Julio's deep embarrassment.

"Go on, boy!" Brenda screeched, pushing at Kurt. "Get up there and show us what you've got!"

He rolled his eyes and made his way to the stage, grumbling under his breath. He climbed up the two stairs and smirked at the waiting audience.

"I'd like to dedicate it this to my Aunt Brenda," he said.

"Damn," she mumbled.

"She's really something...well, she's something."

Their entire table burst out laughing, except Brenda, who scowled and waved at the other curious patrons.

Kurt cued up the machine, slid the headset on, and waited for the song to play, grinning like a fool the entire time.

"This is going to be _awful_ ," Brenda complained.

"This is going to be awesome!" Rusty cheered.

There was suddenly an explosion of guitars - acoustic, electric, and steel - along with percussion, organ, and fiddle.

"Aw, man," Rusty moaned. "Country? Really?"

"Oh, shut up," Buzz laughed. He had just arrived after seeing his sister Casey off at LAX. He was glad he had missed most of the singing, knowing Rusty would have been relentless in prodding him to perform.

Kurt adjusted the microphone, pulling it further from his mouth. He stared at Brenda with bright, mischievous eyes. She rolled hers in reply.

" _Phone rings, people cry, TV Diet Guru lies_." He waved his fingers at her and smirked. " _Good morning, honey_."

She laughed, as did Sharon.

" _Go to work, make up, try to keep the balance up between love and money_ ," Kurt sang. His smile remained, though there was a note of seriousness in his voice that had been previously missing from the first lyric.

His voice was decidedly different from the others. It was obvious that he had trained, and trained hard, and the level of mastery he held over his voice was impressive. His voice was high, but oddly lower than his speaking voice, and it was bright and clear, producing bell-like tones that were amplified by the microphone and echoed throughout the room.

That he had perfect pitch was obvious, but it was the way he controlled his voice that sparked universal appreciation. His breaths were equally measured and he had a slow, delicious vibrato that recalled Dusty Springfield and Linda Ronstadt.

" _She used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows, sign her letters with Xs and Os_."

Brenda blushed, wondering how he knew that, yet sure he had proof in his possession, most likely gifted to him by her late mother, for whom embarrassing her only daughter had almost been sport.

Provenza frowned as he tried to picture a young Brenda Leigh with her hair tied up in bows, skipping around a grassy yard in a pinafore and Mary Janes, dancing to a tune heard only by her. He shook his head. He couldn't do it, but had no doubt she had been that child once, happy and carefree, safe in the arms of her parents.

He wondered what had happened, why she had chosen to enter law enforcement, particularly as an interrogator, a position in which many women did not excel; but excelled she had, acing CIA training to boot. He counted her as one of the people he was closest to, but he really knew very little about her. Sure, he knew her character, her desire for justice, her willingness to bend and even obliterate rules in pursuit of that justice, but about her life experiences prior to Los Angeles? Not so much.

Kurt smiled sadly at Brenda. " _Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls, she's trying to make it in her daddy's world_."

Brenda flinched a looked down at the floor, thoughts of Willie Rae rushing to the fore. She supposed she would forever wonder what her mother had wanted to discuss prior to her death. It haunted her in a way. Had her mother known that something was wrong, that she hadn't much time left, or had she been wondering when Brenda would make her a grandmother? Perhaps it was nothing more than wanting beef stew for dinner the next night. She would never know, and it was endlessly frustrating.

She felt as though she had failed her mother in some basic way. Perhaps it was due to her job and her singular devotion to it. Maybe it was because she hadn't had children. Maybe it was because she had moved to Los Angeles, away from everyone she loved and had ever known. She felt she had disappointed her mother, though Willie Rae had never even so much as hinted at that. Of course, she wouldn't have; that wasn't her way.

Brenda's guilt, for so many things, was omnipresent.

" _She's an American girl. An American girl_."

That lyric resonated deeply with her. She was an American girl, and fiercely proud of it. She was well-traveled, both personally and professionally, and spoke several foreign languages, but she was, at heart, an American who loved her country.

She briefly wondered how Kurt knew this was one of her favorite songs, and then felt stupid for it. Of course he would know.

" _Slow dance, second chance, mama needs romance_ ," Kurt sang, winking at Fritz, who laughed and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders. " _And a live-in maid_ ," he added, giving Brenda a thoroughly unimpressed look which left no doubt as to how he felt about her housekeeping skills. " _Fix the sink, mow the yard, it really isn't all that hard - if you get paid_."

"Amen!" Sharon called out, raising her glass.

Several patrons, mostly women, laughed and copied her movement.

" _She used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows, sign her letters with Xs and Os. Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls, she's trying to make it in her daddy's world_."

Kurt decided to kick it up a notch, which meant he jumped into a Russian split and then leaped from the stage, landing easily on the floor before it with the grace of a cat.

"Nice," Rusty whispered.

Sharon turned toward him and raised a brow, which he ignored.

Kurt danced over toward the table and held out a hand, which Brenda hesitantly took. He rolled his eyes and pulled her to her feet, close against him.

" _An American girl. An American girl_ ," he sang as they did a quick two-step, before he again pulled her to him and then spun her out, smiling at her laughter as Fritz caught her in his arms.

He gathered his breath and prepared to belt. " _Well, she's got her God and she's got good wine, Aretha Franklin, and Patsy Cline!_ "

He turned the last note into a fermata and held it far longer than many people thought possible; so long, in fact, that he ended up holding it over the entire upcoming stanza.

As many stood up and cheered, Fritz moved his arms down from Brenda's shoulders to encircle her waist. She hesitated for a moment before she put her hands over his and guided them to her abdomen, pushing them against it.

Fritz stilled and peered down at her, a hope he thought he'd never have, one which he'd tried to deny he had ever needed or wanted to feel, dawning in his eyes.

"Are you?" he rasped.

Sharon gasped softly.

Flynn nudged Provenza, who glared and turned his head, eyes widening with realization. Tao and Buzz quickly caught on, the latter blinking back tears, as was Sanchez, who turned away so no one could see him. Sykes clapped joyfully. Rusty stared.

Brenda, lips tightly pressed together, looked up at her husband and shyly nodded.

"We're having a baby?" Fritz whispered. "We're having a baby!" he screamed, picking her up in his arms and swinging her around, much to her protestations that morning sickness was not just in the morning. He quickly set her down as thunderous applause broke out, Kurt smiling widely.

" _She used to tie her hair up in ribbons and bows, sign her letters with Xs and Os. Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls_." He looked at Brenda and nodded. " _She's gonna make it in her daddy's world. An American girl. An American girl_."

The other squad members gathered around the couple to offer their congratulations and best wishes.

" _She's an American girl_."

 

* * *

 

After Kurt took his bow to a standing ovation, he rushed from the stage, whispered something to Fritz, and then hurried off toward the bathroom.

As the others talked amongst each other about how good Kurt's performance was, Brenda leaned over to her husband.

"What did he tell you?" she whispered.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Fritz asked, brow cocked.

"Of course I do!" she hissed, slapping his shoulder.

He chuckled and placed his hand over her abdomen. "He said the baby is fine," he murmured, noting her quiet sigh of relief, "and that it's a boy."

She turned to stare at him. "A boy?" she quietly repeated, tears pricking her eyes.

He nodded. "A boy." His voice was rife with emotion. "We're having a son, Brenda."

"We'll have to think of a name," she said, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I already have," he replied. "His name is William."

She couldn't be bothered to wipe away her tears.

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon, after many more tears and desperate hugs, Brenda finally allowed Kurt to escape her clutches and board his plane, extracting a promise that he would call her the moment he landed, and every six hours thereafter.

She would never be comfortable with Kurt so close to Patrick, but she understood why he was going. Part of her was even grateful. Patrick hadn't deserved what had become of his life, but she was wary to trust him with Kurt. Still, she knew he would do nothing to endanger the boy. Of course, that wasn't what worried her.

Despite Kurt's insistence that he had a plan to get to Patrick while flying under Red John's radar, the entire matter didn't sit well with her.

"He'll be okay," Fritz said, nuzzling her neck.

She patted his cheek. "I know." She swallowed heavily. "I know."

 

* * *

**End Note** : The song used in this story is "XXX's and OOO's," by Trisha Yearwood, off her album _Thinkin' About You_ (1995). I've changed the lyrics slightly and corrected the grammar of the title, because it was bugging me.

If you'd like to suggest further crossovers, feel free. The other fandom should ideally be one that features law-enforcement in some manner. There are no guarantees that I'll take the suggestion, especially if I'm unfamiliar with the fandom, but they're nonetheless welcome.


	2. In the Blood

Patrick Jane meandered into the observation room, requisite cup of tea in hand.

He smiled brightly at his colleagues, though the gesture was returned only by Agent Grace Van Pelt. The face of Kimball Cho was, as usual, completely blank, while Wayne Rigsby appeared bewildered and constipated. Teresa Lisbon looked annoyed.

Well, no clues there.

"What's up?" Patrick chirped.

Lisbon grunted and paged restlessly through a report. "Murder interrupted," she said.

He blinked. "That's a bad thing now?"

She rolled her eyes. "A young woman was attacked on Maryville Boulevard a few hours ago, shortly after dusk. She was grabbed right off the sidewalk while waiting for her bus outside of the airport, where she works as a custodian. The assailant dragged her into the bushes, showed the victim his gun, and threatened to kill her before he attempted to rape her."

Patrick shook his head, wondering what he was missing. "He obviously failed, so why do you look like someone popped your balloon?"

She sighed. "She was saved by a good Samaritan, who also subdued the attacker. The problem is that there was no one around to witness the attack, yet this boy appeared out of nowhere just in the nick of time to perform a rescue operation. The perpetrator is taller and heavier than the boy, who, with the element of surprise, took him on with almost no resistance."

She eyed him. "So the question is: how did the boy know? Was this an orchestrated attack? Is he the assailant's partner? If so, what did they hope to gain? If not..."

"How did he know?" Patrick softly repeated, nodding his head, obviously perplexed. He raised a brow. "Did you ask him?"

She scoffed. "Gee, Jane, why didn't I think of that?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

He beamed and shrugged. "I don't know. It's good you have me around to do the heavy lifting."

Lisbon gave an exaggerated blink and shook her head. "He refused to talk. Said he'd only speak to you."

Patrick was now fully engaged. He adored people who were fascinated by him. Well, except for Red John, of course. "Let me at him!" he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Lisbon glared and pointed to the observation window. "He's waiting for you."

Patrick excitedly turned around to gaze upon his latest admirer. When he caught sight of him, time slowed to a standstill and, as his teacup slid from his fingers and shattered on the floor, a low moan of pain escaped his lips, immediately drawing the attention of the others.

"Jane?" a concerned Grace carefully asked.

Patrick stared stupidly as his tea spilled across the parquet tile. He shook his head. "No," he declared. "It can't be."

"Jane, what is it?" Lisbon asked, frowning. "Do you recognize him?"

He again turned to look through the window, blinking heavily, sure that his imagination was merely playing tricks on him.

Kurt calmly sat at the table, his hands folded, patiently waiting and gazing at the mirror as though he could see through it.

"Good evening Agents Lisbon, Cho, Van Pelt, and Rigsby," he said quietly, though his words were easily heard.

Cho narrowed his eyes as Grace's mouth fell open.

"The hell?" Rigsby demanded.

"Hello, Uncle Ricky," Kurt continued. "It's been a long time."

 

* * *

 

"Uncle Ricky," Cho repeated, his voice a complete monotone. "That's a new one," he said, looking suspiciously at Patrick. "I never pegged you as a Ricky."

"Ricky?" Grace silently mouthed.

"How did he know we were all here?" Rigsby asked no one in particular. "How does he know our names? Did you see him? He looked at each one of us when he said them!"

"Who's the boy, Jane?" Lisbon demanded, tuning the others out. "Is he your nephew?"

Patrick's hands found their way to the glass, pushing back against it as though, by doing so, he could keep Kurt from him. "You're not supposed to be here," he whispered, frantically shaking his head. "You know the danger. He'll learn who you are!"

Lisbon suddenly turned into Scooby Doo, ears pricking up at his words. "Red John," she murmured. "So he is your nephew."

"Cousin," Patrick absently replied. "He's my cousin. He always called me Uncle Ricky because I was so much older than him." He rested his forehead against the glass as the fingers of one hand trailed down it. "Oh, Kurt. Why did you do this?"

"I know you're there Uncle Ricky," Kurt said placidly, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world, "and, now, I'm here, and I'm not leaving until you come in and face me like a man."

"I can't," Patrick whispered.

"You can and you will," Kurt sharply replied. "I'm not six years older any longer, Uncle Ricky. You don't get to decide what I can and can't do, who I can and cannot see, where I can and cannot go."

Rigsby winced. "He sounds really mad at you." He blinked. "Hey, why is he acting like he can hear you?"

Patrick ignored him, as did the others. Grace opened her mouth, but Lisbon quickly shook her head, wanting this to play out. She had no idea that Jane had other family; he had always intimated that he was alone. Now, suddenly and without warning, this unknown cousin had arrived in a swirl of mystery, and she wanted answers.

She wasn't sure Jane would give them to her, especially considering his current state - she had never seen him so lost and vulnerable - but she was hoping that Kurt might. So she held her tongue and silently commanded her agents to follow her example.

 

* * *

 

Kurt stared at the glass, and then through it, his eyes pinning Patrick in place.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you," he said softly. "How much I needed you." His eyes turned gray and flinty. "You just cut us out, cut _me_ out, as if we meant nothing, as if we weren't grieving." He shook his head. "You had no right to do that to us!" he spat.

"I'm sorry," Patrick whispered. "I'm so sorry, Kurty."

"Spare me your useless platitudes," Kurt barked. "They mean nothing to me, but you _do_."

He took in a cleansing breath and slowly released it.

"Do not dare argue that it was for my protection. We both know it was for yours. You simply couldn't be bothered to deal with us. You couldn't accept how much we loved you. You were unwilling to place aside your pain and consider that we had our own. We _all_ lost Aunt Angie and Charlie, Uncle Ricky, and then when we lost you. That wasn't _fair_."

He bit his lip. "I choose to believe that you honestly thought you were sparing us, no matter how poorly you planned it. I _have_ to believe that, because the alternative, that you just stopped caring, that you stopped loving me..." He shook his head. "I couldn't bear that," he whispered.

 

* * *

 

Patrick could literally feel every single shield he had manufactured crack and then fall to the floor, just like his teacup.

"Of course I love you, you idiot," he darkly muttered. "I did it _because_ I love you. He would kill you, Kurt, just like he killed Charlotte. He doesn't care that you're a child. All he cares about is hurting me, and he wouldn't hesitate to use you to do it!" He groaned. "And now you're here, and he'll find out about you, and all of it was for _nothing_!"

"We won't let that happen, Jane," Lisbon said quietly.

He turned around to face her and, at the tears in his eyes, she stepped back. He laughed. "Do you really believe you can stop him, Lisbon? That anyone can? You haven't managed so far. This man killed my wife and daughter. He turned Kristina into a zombie. He's already targeted both you and Grace. Do you think he doesn't have plans for Kimball and Rigsby?"

Rigsby paled. Cho simply blinked.

As much as she wanted to argue his points, Grace found she was unable to do so.

"He's been in this building, Teresa," Patrick hissed. "He used Rebecca to kill Bosco and two other agents. There are probably more we just don't know about, that we'll _never_ know about." He grinned. "And what do all of those people have in common?" His eyes shuttered. "Me."

He ran a hand through his hair. "He kills the people close to me, Lisbon. People I love, people with whom I work, random persons whose murders are designed solely to catch my attention. Do you honestly think he won't kill Kurt?"

"We're the only ones who know about him, Jane," Lisbon patiently said.

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Oh, well, then. It's a good thing he's never, oh, I don't know, _bugged the building_ , isn't it?"

She had no response.

"Has your encounter session concluded?" Kurt called out.

"How is he _doing_ that?" Rigsby demanded.

Patrick had no response.

 

* * *

 

"Have you been keeping track of us, Uncle Ricky?" Kurt wondered. "I doubt that you have. I think it's far more likely that, when you distanced yourself from us, you just pretended we no longer existed." He cocked his mind. "However, I'm betting that, with every passing day, you've come to realize that _out of sight_ does not mean _out of mind_."

"You were always too damn smart for your own good," Patrick quietly admitted.

"I'll just catch you up, then, shall I?" Kurt blithely continued. "I arrived here after visiting Aunt Brenda. You know she left the CIA to work at the Metropolitan Police Department. She left the MPD a few years later and returned to Atlanta, joining the force there.

"Thankfully, she divorced that idiot she had married. She then moved to Los Angeles and joined the LAPD, where she became a Deputy Chief and the commanding officer of the Major Crimes Squad."

He raised a brow. "I believe you have something similar here, led by Agent Lisbon, yes? The Serious Crimes Unit?"

 

* * *

 

"You're related to Brenda Johnson?" Lisbon demanded.

"You know her?" asked a confused Patrick.

"Are you serious?" she barked. "Every cop in California knows that woman! You'd have to be living under a rock not to know her name!"

"I guess I have been," Patrick mumbled, turning back to face his nephew.

 

* * *

 

"She's doing well," Kurt added. "She left Major Crimes to become the Bureau Chief of Investigations at the District Attorney's office. Captain Sharon Raydor took her place." He nodded. "Nice woman. I like her."

He rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, Aunt Brenda remarried, to a man named Fritz Howard, who's a Special Agent with the FBI." A soft smile appeared on his face. "She's pregnant." His eyes filled with wonder. "Can you imagine, Uncle Ricky? Aunt Brenda is going to have a baby. She's absolutely terrified, of course, but I know she will be an amazing mother."

He examined his fingernails. "Aunt Camille left New York and relocated to Washington, DC. She heads the Medico-Legal Division of the Jeffersonian. I'll be interning with her this summer. Temperance Brennan _works_ for her."

 

* * *

 

Lisbon had sat down and placed her head in her hands.

"Camille Saroyan," she said dumbly. "You're related to her, too?"

Patrick blinked and then shook his head. "No, she's Kurt's aunt, his mother's sister. I'm related to his father, Burt. I've met Cam a few times, briefly, but I barely know her."

"This family is unbelievable," Cho said. "CBI, CIA, FBI, LAPD, the Jeffersonian." He quirked a brow. "Any other agencies represented?"

Patrick waved a dismissive hand. "Probably."

 

* * *

 

"Uncle Neal is out of jail," Kurt said, drumming his fingers on the table. "He's now working for the FBI, if you can believe that," he added, snorting, "for the very same agent who sent him to prison. He investigates white collar crimes in New York."

He shook his head. "I still can't determine how much the two of you colluded with each other. I suppose I'll never know. Perhaps it's simple biology. You were always so much alike." He shrugged. "Maybe it just runs in the family."

He sighed gently. "Aunt Allie has three children now, all girls. You remember when Ariel was born. Bridgette came a few years later, and then Marie. I plan to fly out to Phoenix at the beginning of summer. Ariel started Dartmouth last year, and I want to wait until she's home for break so that I can see all of them." He bit his lip. "Uncle Joe died several months ago. A plane crash."

 

* * *

 

"Oh, Jesus," Patrick whispered, shutting his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Allison. Joe was a good man."

Warning bells went off in Lisbon's head as she began accessing every file in the computer that was her brain.

 

* * *

 

Kurt raised his gaze and stared at the window. "I missed you so much, Uncle Ricky. I missed you every single day." He paused and shook his head. "I'm so angry with you. I was confused for so long, wondering what I had done that caused you to throw me away like a bag of garbage, because that's what you did."

He slammed his hand on the table. "I was closer to you than to anyone!" he thundered. "Charlotte was my best friend! Did you think that I wasn't hurting? That I didn't care? How could you _do_ that to me?"

He reined in his emotions. "Did you know Mom died?" he whispered. "Only two months after Charlotte and Aunt Angela. Cancer. We didn't even know she was sick until it was too late. I was six years old, and I _needed_ you!

"I needed you when I realized I was gay and all alone in that town. I needed you when I came out to my father and was terrified he was going to throw me out of the house. I needed you when people were calling my house and my cell and the shop, telling me that I was a fag and that I should be killed and that I was going to burn in hell for all eternity. I needed you when they were painting disgusting words on my house and my car and my locker, which, every day, was filled with death threats and notes encouraging suicide, and the school did _nothing_!

"I needed you when I had my heart broken for the first time. I needed you when Dad had a heart attack during my sophomore year. I needed you when he was in a coma, and I was alone in the house for a month, terrified every minute and waiting for Social Services to come and take me away. Terrified that I would be placed in foster care and that Dad would die and I would be _alone_. I needed you when he recovered and then got remarried."

He shuddered. "I needed you when some fat, sweaty hockey player dragged me to the floor of the locker room and tried to rape me."

 

* * *

 

Patrick sobbed breathlessly, his face red and mottled, as useless tears streaked down his face.

Grace's eyes were filled with horror, her hands covering her gaping mouth, as she looked through the window at the young man - the _child_ \- sitting before her, a child who had been through more than most adults she knew.

Rigsby was angrily staring down at the floor, his fingers twitching and longing to reach for his gun.

Lisbon's face was stone, but betrayed by the wildness of her eyes, no doubt thinking about her many brothers and what she would have done had one of them been in Kurt's place. She probably would have been rotting in a cell.

Even the stoic Cho had been moved by Kurt's words.

 

* * *

 

"But you weren't there," Kurt said sadly. "No one was." He looked up at the ceiling. "So many cousins and aunts and uncles, yet I'm always alone."

 

* * *

 

"If you don't get in there right now, Jane," Lisbon seethed, "I swear to god I will put a bullet in your head."

Patrick stumbled out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Kurt did nothing but arch a quizzical brow when Patrick threw open the door and raced inside. He didn't rise to his feet. He didn't even acknowledge the entrance. He simply continued to sit and stare at the two-way mirror.

"Kurty..." Patrick said miserably, voice choked with emotion.

"That's what it took for you to come in here," Kurt said coldly, his eyes betraying nothing of what he was feeling. "I had to admit that I'd almost been raped before you would agree to see me? Well, I guess it's good to know where I stand with you."

"That is not true," said a disbelieving Patrick.

Kurt looked up at him, anger flashing in his eyes. "Sit down."

Patrick wordlessly complied, pulling out the chair and wincing when the metal legs scraped across the concrete floor. He wearily sat, but found himself unable to meet Kurt's assessing gaze.

"I came here because I wanted to see if there was anything left of the man I remember, of the uncle I loved so much." He shook his head. "There isn't. You've allowed yourself to become so consumed by their deaths that I no longer recognize you."

Patrick said nothing, but his shoulders tightened in anger.

"I think that's quite enough of that," Kurt said primly. "I have the right to talk about them, and you won't take it from me. I loved them; I still do. I miss them, and I always will. I _knew_ them, Patrick. Despite what you might believe, other people are entitled to mourn them."

Patrick opened his mouth to reply.

"No," Kurt said, voice resolute. "I'm talking now. You've said nothing to me in more than a decade, though your silence screamed, so you will do the me courtesy of shutting up and listening to what I have to say. You owe me that much."

Patrick clenched his jaw and nodded.

"How dare you?" Kurt demanded. "How dare you just walk away as if you didn't have a family who loved you, who needed you? And for what? To protect us from Red John?" He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Here's a newsflash, Patrick: he's just one man, and that's all he is - a man. He's incredibly skilled and viciously demented, but he's not omnipotent.

"You might not have been keeping track of us, but rest assured, I've kept track of you, and I think you're a complete idiot. You do realize, don't you, that you've played right into his hands? You've allowed this psychopath to manipulate you at every turn."

"You know nothing about it," Patrick seethed.

"Oh, really?" Kurt asked, eyes wide and brimming with feigned ignorance. "Agents, if you would?" He waved for them to join him.

Patrick stared at him in confusion. Kurt merely smirked in reply.

 

* * *

 

Lisbon and the rest of her team cautiously entered the room and Kurt rose to his feet to greet them. Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, he got right down to business.

"Have you performed a background check on me?" he asked Grace, figuring she, as the junior agent, was most likely the one who'd be delegated such a mundane task.

She blinked and shook her head.

He nodded. "Good, then I'll spare you the effort. You can later verify everything I tell you."

Grace looked to Lisbon, who shrugged; she'd take whatever information was offered.

Kurt looked at Teresa. "Agent Lisbon, are you familiar with the Shadow Man?"

Her eyes widened, first in recognition and then confusion. "Yes," she said guardedly. "Mark Cunningham, also known as the Shadow Man, was a serial killer who terrorized the Midwest approximately nine months ago. He committed over a dozen murders across Indiana, Illinois, and Ohio."

Patrick flinched.

Lisbon didn't notice and continued. "Another fifteen murders are attributed to him, though the evidence to tie him conclusively to the crimes wouldn't hold up in court." She paused, frowning. "It was rumored that he had become obsessed with an undisclosed member of law enforcement, one of those who was tracking him. Before he was captured, Cunningham had focused exclusively on this person, trying, and failing, several times to kill them."

Kurt said nothing as she spoke, gazing at Patrick.

"He was killed during a sting operation conducted by a joint task force, headed by the FBI and Dayton Homicide," she concluded.

Kurt nodded, reached behind him, withdrew his badge, and passed it over to her.

She took it, brow furrowed, and opened it. She stared down at it, her mouth moving though no words emerged. "You work..." She gulped. "You're a Special Consultant with the District Attorney's Office?" she whispered. "Montgomery County, Ohio." She swallowed. "Dayton is the county seat."

"No," Patrick said, shaking his head.

Grace had to take a seat, studying Kurt as though he was a specimen mounted on a slide beneath a microscope. "It was you?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded. "It was." He spread his hand on the desk and looked down upon it. "During the final months of the investigation, Cunningham became fixated on me. Despite the fact that my name wasn't anywhere to be found in any official reports, he determined I was involved and my function in the office. He discovered where I lived, where I went to school, and began stalking me."

Patrick's hands shook.

"I had to be pulled from school, but luckily there was only a week left before summer break and I was excused from finals due to my marks," Kurt continued. "Having me there put my friends and the other students in danger. I couldn't remain in the house, because that would make it, as well as my father, Carole, and Finn, my stepmother and stepbrother respectively, targets. They were assigned protection details and, thankfully, nothing happened.

"Cunningham was far more interested in playing with me than he was my family and friends. As odd as it may sound, I am incredibly grateful for that fact." He looked at Patrick with understanding. "I don't think I could have lived with myself had he killed them to hurt me, but I lived with that constant, gnawing fear for fifty-six days. We spread a rumor to satisfy my friends and the school that I had gone to France to take care of my sick grandmother."

He began tracing circles on the desk with his finger. "He found out the location of the safe house where I was being guarded. He killed two FBI agents and three Dayton officers in order to get to me." He raised his eyes, his gaze boring into Patrick. "And he did."

Rigsby sighed, leaning against the wall, as he looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.

"I'm partnered with a detective from Dayton Homicide, Justine Westgate. They put word out that Justine had been pulled from the case and put under protection, but, in reality, we were staying together. She wouldn't leave me, you see? She was determined to stand by me until the very end." He shook his head. "Stubborn woman."

"As I work for the District Attorney's office and not the police force, the goal of the subterfuge was to force Cunningham out into the open, using my supervisor, DA Liza Capwell, as bait. He'd already made threats against her for pulling me from the case, and we were sure he'd go after her to get to me, as, presumably, she was the only one who knew where I was."

He sighed. "As I said, Cunningham eventually found me, killing five people in the process." He scowled. "It is greatly offensive to me that those people aren't included in the number of murders Cunningham performed. Oh, they made a great show of it, blubbering about service and protection, heroic deaths in the line of duty, but there was a pervasive attitude that, because they were police officers or federal agents, the burden was on them to remain alive."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed and Cho gnashed his teeth. They understood bureaucracies, and they respected Kurt for seeing through the bullshit.

"He got inside the house and shot Justine with her own gun," Kurt said, his voice tinny and robotic. "He then attacked me. We fought, I gained possession of her gun, and I killed him."

They stared at him, but he only had eyes for Patrick.

"It didn't make me feel better. I didn't feel like a hero. I didn't feel righteous, or that I had avenged the deaths of all the many people he had killed. All I felt was empty, because it wasn't over. It will never be over, because it lives within me. That's his legacy: I can never forget him, so he will never be forgotten."

He slowly exhaled. "Thankfully, Justine survived, but things have been...difficult between us since then. She's angry that I was forced to kill him and doesn't understand why I don't blame her for putting me in that position, as though she were responsible." He nodded to himself. "It's probably good that I'll soon have to resign to prepare for college."

He cocked his head. "So, you see, I fully understand what it means to have a homicidal maniac pursuing you. I understand what it means when people you love are targeted for the simple reason that you love them. I understand how it feels to be the last man standing, how you blame yourself for surviving when others you deem more worthy perished.

"So spare me your violin concerto, Uncle Patrick. I wrote my own, and I'm a _maestro_ when I play it. You're not that special."

Everyone but Kurt was stunned and horrified when Patrick burst into hysterical laughter, tittering like a young boy told a dirty joke in the middle of Mass.

As Patrick was far too busy with his hyena impression to ask the appropriate questions, Lisbon took it upon herself.

"How is that you even have this job? I mean, I know you do. I know this badge is real, but why you? How did you get it?"

He looked up at her. "The same way I knew to be on Maryville Boulevard earlier this evening, which, coincidentally, allowed for this meeting and for me to slip in right under Red John's radar."

Patrick's laughter abruptly stopped. "No," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Kurt said wryly, eyes dancing with amusement. "Did you think you had escaped it all, Uncle Ricky? Out of sight does not mean out of mind."

"What does that mean?" Lisbon demanded.

"It's not true," Patrick insisted, all but foaming at the mouth. "There's no such thing as psychics!"

The others gasped and stared at Kurt, who met each of their gazes in turn.

"You know that's not true, Uncle Ricky," he said quietly. "You can deny it as much as you want, but you know better."

"You're psychic?" Grace whispered.

He shrugged. "I suppose that's as useful a description as anything else."

Patrick then began ranting and raving, spouting diatribes against such fantastical abilities, cursing the charlatans who proclaimed to possess them, and how such people manipulated and ruined others for profit or merely the fun of it.

"No," Kurt said quietly, "that's what you did."

Patrick's mouth snapped shut with an audible clack as he whirled on his heel and stared at him, pain blazing in his eyes.

Kurt's own welled in response. "I see," he whispered, breath catching and tears slipping down his face. "You blame me."

Patrick was horrified. "No!" he screamed, racing to Kurt's side, dropping to his knees and staring at Kurt imploringly. "Not you. _Never_ you! You were a child!" He reached up with his hands and gently wiped Kurt's tears away before cupping the boy's face. "We didn't even know for sure if you would inherit it. I _never_ blamed you."

"But you blame the others," Kurt guessed.

Patrick's mouth twisted into a sneer, and he dropped his hands and looked away, breathing heavily through his nose. "Your mother. Allison. Melinda." He shook his head. "None of them warned us. None of them saw. What good are such _vaunted_ powers when you can't protect your own family?"

And they _had_ been family, Patrick believed, despite the fact that he was related to the three only through Burt's marriage to Suzanne. That was just how they were; they welcomed every addition as though those additions were blood kin.

Finally, Lisbon put it together: Phoenix, Arizona and the name _Allison_. "Allison DuBois," she blurted. "You're related to Allison DuBois?" she asked, looking back and forth between Kurt and Patrick.

"Another cousin of mine," was all Kurt said.

"Who?" Cho asked.

"The story broke a few years back," Lisbon said. "Allison DuBois is a psychic who works for the District Attorney in Phoenix."

They all eyed Kurt, who shrugged.

"Runs in the family."

"Her closure rate is phenomenal," Lisbon said, "though most people believe it's a hoax, especially as Manuel Devalos, the District Attorney, has never confirmed or denied the claims. He doesn't even acknowledge her involvement in active cases, insisting that she's merely a paralegal."

Kurt snorted. "She prefers the term _medium_ , for which I can't blame her, as that's the most accurate description of what she does." He turned to Rigsby. "That means she can see and speak with the dead. And, no, I don't know where your grandfather's belt buckle is."

Rigsby's eyes widened and he reeled back in shock.

Grace tried and failed to stop her snicker.

"Who's Melinda?" Cho asked.

Kurt was immediately on guard, which did not go unmissed by everyone in the room. "Another cousin," he said slowly. "She lives on the East Coast."

That was all he said, leaving everyone to wonder as to this woman and what it was she did. Patrick, however, clearly observed Kurt's worry, which activated his own. Was Melinda in danger? He wanted to know, but was afraid to ask.

Grace looked longingly at Kurt. "How do you do it?"

He regarded her closely. "I can't answer that because I don't know. I've had my abilities for almost as long as I can remember, but they were somewhat muted until my mother died. After her death, they became more...active." He paused. "I'm much stronger than she was, and what I see differs drastically from what she saw."

"What do you mean?"

He gathered a slow breath. "Allison's primary method of communication is via dreams. In essence, she has visions while she sleeps, usually of murder victims, but also of kidnappings and other crimes. Most of what she sees is violence, and, a lot of the time, it can be shrouded in symbolism, so she's never sure how much of what she sees should be taken in a literal manner."

He paused. "She is...very unique, as are her abilities, which can manifest in strange ways. For example, several years ago she was working a case, the disappearance and murder of a deaf woman. Aunt Allie woke up one morning profoundly deaf for no medical reason."

Grace and Rigsby gaped, but Lisbon and Cho appeared skeptical.

Kurt waved a hand. "That's neither here nor there, and I'm uncomfortable discussing her behind her back. I don't care if you believe me. Aunt Allie's abilities are some of the strongest anyone has ever known. She also occasionally has waking visions, and is mildly telepathic and empathic. Psychics the world over know who she is, and those who don't immediately recognize her power when they find themselves in her presence."

He cleared his throat. "Melinda is much like my mother was. She's strong, but her abilities are far more limited, mostly confined to speaking with ghosts."

"Ghosts!" Rigsby yelped.

Cho shot him a withering look.

"Spirits, if you prefer," Kurt said sardonically. "Spirits are earthbound because they either want justice for their deaths, or they have a warning or last message to give a loved one. Melinda has had a few visions, but they usually just precede the event, so there's little she can do to affect the outcome. However, they can be both crippling and even more cryptic than those Allison receives.

"She's mostly retrocognitive, which means her visions are about past events. Her mother also has some measure of power. She's always claimed she can't see ghosts, but she can hear them. She never wanted to, so, in order to block them out, she ignored her power altogether, denying it even existed. She also denied her mother's gifts, as well as those of her daughter, which led to tension between her and Melinda that will never be truly resolved. Allison tried to drink away her abilities when she was much younger, but it wasn't effective. Her power is simply too strong. It won't be denied."

"And what do you see?" Lisbon asked.

Kurt stared at her. "Violence. I see violent acts - attacks, rapes, and murders. There's no symbolism, no protection my mind can offer to mute the horror. I see these things in full, honking Technicolor and have from the time I was six years old. Allison's visions are like literature, while mine are like films. Melinda falls somewhere in between."

His eyes narrowed. "There's nothing glamorous about it. People with abilities such as ours don't brag. We don't seek fame or even acknowledgment. I don't bend spoons. I don't read tea leaves or look into a crystal ball. I see the most harrowing and devastating experiences people can suffer, and often they don't survive."

"Christ," Cho muttered, closing his eyes.

"I have a few other abilities, psychometry mostly, which can lead to waking visions. It means I can touch an object and glean its provenance and previous owners, which allows me to establish a link with that person. I'm somewhat telepathic and can pull information from the mind of someone else, but it's not an exact science. I can't do it on command, and often said information is nothing of consequence."

He sighed. "I followed Aunt Allie's example and went to work for the District Attorney so that I could do something with the things I knew, so that I could help people and, yes, help myself. Doing nothing would have eventually driven me to insanity."

Lisbon blinked and averted her eyes.

Kurt turned toward Patrick. "Your carnie father might have taught you how to perform cold readings, how to answer questions with more questions and offer vague information that elicits detailed responses, as well as how to manipulate people, but you studied them: my mother, Allison, and Melinda.

"You studied how they looked when they had a vision, the small facial movements, the eyes haunted with knowledge they didn't wish to possess," he charged. "You added your own flair, of course, but you learned from them, and you knew they were real. You know I'm real. You just don't want to admit it because you're ashamed that you used them. You exploited them, and then others, to make money, inadvertently garnering Red John's attention."

Patrick inhaled sharply.

"Still drinking belladonna?" Kurt smoothly asked, apropos of nothing, as far as most of the others knew.

He received the desired response when Patrick bent over as though socked in the gut.

"Jane!" Lisbon shrieked. "Tell me you're not!"

"You know it's not Charlie, Uncle Ricky," Kurt said softly. "You're only hurting yourself, endangering your health, and for no good reason. She wouldn't want that."

Patrick shook his head.

"You're not psychic, Uncle Ricky. You never were, and you will never convince me that a part of you doesn't hate us for having abilities you don't understand and would never actually want. It's not a gift; it's a curse."

Patrick's jaw clenched.

"And now you've reduced yourself to a petulant child, whining that psychics aren't real simply because you're not one. You blame my mother and Allison and Melinda for not foreseeing the deaths of Aunt Angie and Charlotte, but you know as well as I do that's not how it works."

Patrick glared mutinously.

"We're not omniscient. We're not prophets. We don't see everything. I didn't foresee Mom's death. Allison had a dream about Uncle Joe's death, but didn't realize what it was until it was too late."

He wasn't about to mention Melinda and Jim, because that entire situation was too strange, even for him.

"None of us saw Red John on the horizon, and, no, it's not fair. It's not right. I wish we _had_ seen. I wish we had been able to help. At the end of the day, however, we're not responsible, and neither are you. Only one person is, and it's about time you assigned him all the blame he's due."

He turned to Cho. "Motives for murder. What are they?"

"Love, money, and power," the man promptly replied.

Kurt nodded. "But that can be reduced even further. Love and money gives you power over others, so they're the only ones worth mentioning." He looked back to Patrick. "Red John doesn't need your money, so what's left?"

"Love?" an incredulous Patrick simpered, sneering. "So Red John loves me, is that it?"

"No, you titmouse," Kurt shot back. "He's _in_ love with you."

Patrick balked, as did the others.

"Red John is...gay?" Rigsby asked.

Kurt sighed in exasperation. "His sexuality isn't the point. What is are his feelings for Uncle Ricky." He turned to Patrick. "Red John is infatuated with you, and while you are impossibly beautiful..."

"Runs in the family," Patrick said weakly.

Kurt sniffed. "Flattery will get you nowhere. As I was saying, Red John is infatuated with your mind, not your pretty face. You excite him because you challenge him on a primitive level. I'm sure he'd like to think that he's your intellectual equal, but you know, you _know_ , that's not true. He's not smarter than you; he's more conniving. There's a difference, and you know that, as well."

Patrick slowly walked toward him. "What did you see?"

Lisbon's head reared back. If she had experienced any doubt about what Kurt had been saying, about what he could do, it was now resolved. Jane had just all but admitted Kurt was psychic.

"Nothing," Kurt said. "I don't know who he is, and I don't know where to find him, but that's not the point. This is our family, Uncle Ricky, and we understand family business, don't we?"

Patrick nodded dumbly.

"Me, Mom, Melinda, Allison - and it's not just limited to us. You don't have to be psychic to read people. You don't need extra senses to know what motivates them and how to predict their behavior. You've been doing it all your life, as has Uncle Neal. It's what makes Aunt Brenda such a brilliant interrogator. It's what makes Aunt Alex an excellent prosecutor. It's what makes Olivia such a good agent. It's what makes Aunt Cam such an amazing forensic investigator. It's what makes Myka..."

Cho couldn't stand it anymore. "Is all of your family in law enforcement?"

"Except for my immediate family, yes, and on both sides, as well as both sides of the fence," Kurt replied. He then shrugged. "My father is a mechanic, but he is the best at what he does, and that's not just my opinion."

"Homeland Security?"

"Yes."

"Scotland Yard?"

Kurt nodded. "Yes. I have a cousin on my mother's side, descended from the maternal line. His name is Thomas Lynley. He's the eighth Earl of Asherton and is a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard."

Cho stared. "Mossad?"

Kurt hesitated. "Well, technically, I suppose she is, though she's now a liaison officer with NCIS. We've never been able to figure out exactly _how_ Ziva is related. We know it's through marriage several generations back."

Cho threw up his hands and began pacing, muttering about statistical impossibilities.

"All things are possible, Agent Cho," Kurt said, in perfect Korean.

Cho spun on his heel and gaped.

Kurt shrugged a shoulder. "One of my best friends is Korean. She's taught me what she could, though admittedly, Korean is one of the few languages that gives me great difficulty."

"How many do you speak?" asked an amazed Grace.

"Including English, I'm fluent in six languages. I'm passable in Korean and Mandarin."

"Are you a unicorn?" Rigsby demanded.

Kurt frowned. "Was that a homophobic slur?"

"No!" he exclaimed.

Kurt smirked.

Rigsby narrowed his eyes and huffed.

Patrick coughed. "Red John..."

Kurt shook his head. "All roads really do lead back to him for you, don't they?" He sighed. "Fine. Here's a home truth for you, Uncle Ricky, one so simple, you've blinded yourself to it. Do you know why Red John went after Aunt Angie and Charlie?"

Patrick flushed angrily. "Of course I do! Because I was presumptive enough and _arrogant_ enough to go on television and..."

"No," Kurt softly interrupted. "It's because your words were true."

Patrick blinked. "What?"

"Everything you said about him was true," Kurt said, "and he couldn't handle it. He wasn't angry because you had the gall to bait him. He was infuriated because you had so accurately assessed his character, and he couldn't have that. He couldn't stand to know that he wasn't the smartest person in the room. He couldn't stand that someone else could so easily see through him." He paused and raised a brow. "And thus his fascination with you was born, and that turned into obsession."

Patrick's eyes narrowed as his mind raced.

"He killed Aunt Angela and Charlotte because you hurt him and he wanted to hurt you back, yes, but that wasn't the only reason. He didn't kill them because he felt you weren't deserving of such a beautiful wife and child." He shook his head. "He judged them and found them lacking. In his twisted mind, _they_ didn't deserve _you_ \- only _he_ does - so he removed them from the picture. He's so insane and warped, he truly believes he was doing you a favor."

Patrick paled.

"Their deaths freed you from all commitments - work, family, friends - so that you could devote all of your attention to him, which is where he feels it belongs. And it worked, didn't it? You're the only one whom he feels is worthy of him. He's the Moriarty to your Holmes."

"That...can't...be," Patrick huffed.

"But it is," Kurt said sadly. "He destroyed you and annihilated your family, all for the sake of what he feels is intellectual intercourse."

Patrick shuddered, as did the others. Except Cho.

"You need to think about that, Uncle Ricky," Kurt said softly. "You have to set aside the pain, even if only temporarily, and consider what you've allowed this man to turn you into."

Patrick turned away, ashamed.

"Or maybe you already have," Kurt said. "I'm sure you've thought about what will become of you when you finally catch him." He shook his head. "I won't allow it. He took my best friend and my aunt. I won't let him have you."

Patrick choked out a sob.

"Please, Uncle Ricky," he begged, tears coursing down his face. "Please don't let him win. Please don't leave me again." He stood and quickly crossed the room, taking Patrick's face in his hands and brushing the man's bangs off his head. He looked deeply into Patrick's eyes. "Are you still in there?"

"I don't know," Patrick admitted.

Kurt kissed him chastely on the lips. "You're still you," he whispered. "You just forgot how to be."

Patrick shook his head in misery and then laid his forehead against that of Kurt. "I don't want to be him anymore."

"Then don't," Kurt said. "Don't be the Mentalist. Just be my incredibly smart and funny Uncle Ricky. I miss him. I love him."

Patrick pulled Kurt to him and embraced him tightly, burying his face in Kurt's neck. "I'll try."

Kurt stiffened. "Do you promise? I'll know if you lie."

"I'll try," Patrick repeated, this time more firmly.

"Your word," Kurt said. "I know you, I know your tricks, but I also know what it means when Uncle Ricky gives me his word."

Patrick was silent for a very long time, preferring to revel in allowing himself to be held for the first time in so very long. This boy, this man, was his blood, loved him with every fiber of his being, and Patrick had just thrown it all away so that he could feel sorry for himself while living under the delusion that he was protecting what remained of his family.

And what had it accomplished in the end? Nothing of import. Red John had kept on killing, had kept on taunting. Suzanne Hummel had died, Joe DuBois had died, Burt and Brenda had remarried, children had been born, Kurt was putting his life on the line and had almost been killed, while Patrick had been sitting in his mausoleum of a house with his thumb up his ass for all of it.

Which was exactly what Red John had wanted. Kurt was right.

Patrick Jane, the mentalist, the con artist, the brightest person in the room, had allowed himself to be played.

He tightened his hold around his cousin. "My word," he finally whispered.

 

* * *

 

Lisbon was reluctant to interrupt them, as she'd never before seen Jane so relaxed. He often gave off an air of exuberance and affability, but those who knew him, even if only a fraction, had learned to spot the undercurrent of tension thrumming constantly throughout his body. That was gone now, for however long. She wondered why she was more relieved at what Kurt Hummel had managed to do for Patrick Jane than she was that the boy had stopped a rape and murder in progress.

Still, she had a job to do. She cleared her throat.

Kurt turned his head, still on Patrick's shoulder, and looked at her. "I presume you want my statement about tonight's earlier events."

She nodded. "It's necessary."

"Of course," he easily replied. "My only request is that, for the official record, you refrain from asking if I had any foreknowledge of the attack. We both know that I did, and we both know I won't answer."

She shrugged. "Fair enough. That answer would only get me laughed out of the building."

He smiled mysteriously. "You'd be surprised."

She decided to let that remark pass without comment, feeling it would be better for her mental health. "We can spin the report however you want. In the end, all that really matters is that you're an eyewitness. If you allow me to use your credentials as an unofficial member of law enforcement, I don't imagine the defense will have much of a case. They would have a difficult time impeaching you."

He nodded. "Acceptable. My job with the District Attorney's Office is legitimate, even if only a handful people know what it is I really do. I'll explain the situation to Liza and Justine; they'll back me up."

He then released Patrick, resumed his seat, and began his narration as Grace took notes. Lisbon and Cho each asked one or two questions, but for the most part, Kurt's story was exact and to the point. It was apparent he knew how the game was played.

"How quickly can you get him arraigned?" Kurt asked.

"Tomorrow morning," Lisbon replied. "Your presence won't be required, although there's a chance you will be called to testify at the trial. I'm not sure when it will be scheduled."

He nodded. "Just let me know, and I'll make myself available."

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Patrick whispered.

Kurt turned toward him. "I have to. Just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean Red John isn't out to get you. We don't know if Red John is keeping tabs on you, or if he's having one of his devoted acolytes do it for him, but it's better to err on the side of caution. It's best he doesn't see us together, at least not without the others in tow."

Patrick nodded sadly.

"Even if I could stay," Kurt quietly continued, "I couldn't stay with you." He swallowed heavily. "I can't be in that house, Uncle Ricky. I'm sure it's dripping with psychic remnants. I'd be crippled the moment I walked through the door."

Patrick blanched and gave another shaky nod.

"Of course, it's not as though you sleep there, is it?" Kurt slyly asked. "How's the bed upstairs?"

Patrick flushed and scowled.

"Jane?" Lisbon prompted.

Kurt sighed. "If you can't let go of the house, please find somewhere else to live, Uncle Ricky. Being there is not good for you, and you won't find them there."

Patrick stilled. "Have...have you seen them?"

Kurt ducked his head and was silent for a very long time. "I've seen Charlotte, yes," he whispered.

Lisbon and Cho sucked in breaths. The eyes of Grace and Risgby widened to the size of saucers.

"Charlie was my best friend," Kurt continued, "and because of what I can do, she eventually found her way to me." He paused. "It took her a very long time. She was killed when she was a child, with all of the innocence a child possesses. Of course she preferred to stay with her father."

Patrick shook with barely-suppressed emotion. "She was with me? All of that time?"

"Time," Kurt repeated. "Time means nothing to them, Uncle Ricky, but yes, she was with you." He cleared his throat. "When I arrived in Los Angeles two weeks ago, she came to me. I guess the proximity, as well as Aunt Brenda's presence, allowed her to do so. I was in Los Angeles two years ago and never saw her. For years, I'd assumed she'd crossed over." He exhaled. "It was Charlotte who asked me to come. Until she did, I was too scared."

"Of me?" Patrick warbled, obviously pained.

Kurt blushed. "That you wouldn't want to see me. That you didn't want me anymore."

Patrick squatted on his haunches. "I love you, Kurty. I know I've done a very poor job of showing that, but it's true. I never stopped loving you. I was just..."

"You weren't ready," Kurt interrupted, "and that's okay. It really is. Let's just put it behind us."

Patrick sighed, but eventually nodded. "What time's your flight?"

"Three hours," Kurt announced after looking down at his watch.

"Are you going home?"

Kurt's eyes became evasive. "Eventually, yes. I still have a few days left of break, and I have a layover in Pierre."

Patrick blinked. "Who the hell is in South Dakota? Is that even still a state?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Yes, and Myka lives there now."

Patrick cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Why would a Secret Service Agent be living in South Dakota?" he demanded.

Kurt smirked. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

 

* * *

 

Cho was smug.

He liked being smug, and he felt it was a good look for him.

So it was with great smugness that he chauffeured Kurt Hummel to Sacramento International Airport late that night, after the boy had declared that he preferred _Kimball_ to do so, as he was the least likely to ask questions which would never be answered. Jane, of course, went with them, but that was fine.

 _Kimball_ Cho liked Kurt Hummel, precisely for the fact that Kurt wasn't smug, and, in his estimation, Kurt had reason to be smug. But the boy wasn't arrogant. He didn't tout his abilities or intimate that he was more important than anyone else, far more concerned with helping people wherever and however he could. Cho admired that; he respected that.

Cho smirked as he remembered the look of outrage on Lisbon's face when Kurt had turned down her offer of a ride. She had flushed heavily when Kurt scolded her plan to get him alone and pump him for information about Jane, as well as Brenda Leigh Johnson, with whom, for some reason, Lisbon took issue.

Rigsby, of course, had looked like a kicked puppy, and Cho was actually grateful the man had gone home. Grace, on the other hand, he would've liked to have had along. She and Kurt had formed some kind of easy, natural rapport. Kurt treated her as both a college and a friend, and, though he wasn't sure why, exactly, Cho felt it was probably because Grace had had no trouble accepting Kurt at face value.

Cho was pleased by this. Van Pelt was turning into the outstanding agent he had long suspected she would one day become. Ever since Craig O'Laughlin, Grace had been transforming herself into some kind of modern day Amazon, and Cho liked that. He knew the others were worried for her mental health, but he knew Grace was strong enough to get through it. He trusted her, and her judgment.

He was also amused by how heavily Kurt was flirting with him, especially because it stoked Jane's ire, which was always fun. He'd never seen anyone get under Jane's skin the way Kurt was, and with such ease.

Kurt had made passing mention of a boyfriend, so Cho knew he didn't mean anything by the flirting; most likely, he was doing it solely to get a reaction from Jane. As he was succeeding, Cho was more than happy to play along. Besides, Kurt was cute and funny, and, in another life, maybe something would have happened.

"No, it wouldn't have," Kurt whispered to him as they approached the terminal. "I'm not the member of my family who's garnered your interest."

Cho stopped dead in his tracks and gaped.

And, now, Kurt was smug.

"What was that?" asked a suspicious Patrick, still put out by the blatant flirting.

"Nothing!" Kurt tinkled. "I just decided to play a little mind game with Kimball, here, and he lost. It's not for you to know."

Patrick pouted, though he, too, was smug.

Cho grumbled under his breath and stalked forward to the security gate. Once his back was turned to them, he smirked. The little moppet had scored a direct hit. Good for him.

"I guess this is it," Patrick said sadly.

"For now," Kurt agreed, "but don't think you've gotten rid of me so easily."

Patrick grinned. "I don't think I could if I wanted." His eyes became grave. "I don't, by the way," he said softly.

"I know," Kurt whispered. "You'll find your way back, Uncle Ricky, and I'll be there waiting when you do." He cleared his throat and raised his chin. "Now pull it together. We don't know who's watching."

Patrick nodded and managed to refrain from furtively scanning his surroundings.

"Call Aunt Allie," Kurt advised. "Let her know what's going on. She has contacts, much more so than I do. She can get the word out. Maybe someone will pick up on something."

"Couldn't hurt," Patrick said diffidently, shrugging. He held out his hand.

Kurt briefly closed his eyes and funneled all of his feelings for his uncle into his hand, then grasped Patrick's in his own.

Patrick gasped softly. "What is that?" he whispered in awe.

"My love for you." He released that hand. "See you soon, Mr. Jane."

Patrick was helpless but to beam. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt nodded, smiled, and then departed. He approached security, shook hands quickly with Cho, and sailed through the gate. As much as he wanted to, he didn't turn around.

He was never one for looking back.


	3. Haven in a Heartless World

Kurt landed shortly before four in the morning. He had managed, surprisingly, to sleep the entire trip, relieved that his meeting with Patrick had gone so well; certainly better than expected.

He just hoped Patrick had the wherewithal to begin relinquishing some of his guilt. He would always mourn the loss of Angela and Charlotte, but he had to stop blaming himself. Pinning some unneeded redemption on his capture and execution of Red John was asinine.

Actually, what Patrick Jane really needed, _desperately_ needed, was to get thoroughly laid, and not by any of Red John's minions. Hopefully, the hint Kurt had dropped to the delectable Kimball Cho might do something about that.

Kurt was severely unimpressed by Pierre Regional Airport, but he supposed it was clean and serviceable. As he went to collect his bags, he realized he was the only traveler roaming the empty terminals, which was vaguely disconcerting. Granted, it _was_ South Dakota _and_ stupid o'clock in the morning, but shouldn't there have been more people?

He sighed and shook his head. Whatever.

He grabbed his belongings, stopped at a kiosk and procured a startlingly excellent cup of coffee, and trotted over to one of the rental car desks. He wanted to drive a sledgehammer through the skull of the bright-eyed and obnoxiously perky attendant whose preposterous name, according to his tag, was _Buster_.

"Hi!"

Kurt blinked. "Hello. I'd like to rent a car, please."

Buster suddenly looked scared. "I'm sorry, but you have to be twenty-five to rent an automobile."

Kurt frowned, wondering as to the veracity of his statement. For all he knew, it was even true. He'd never before tried to rent a car before. He'd _driven_ a rental once, but it had been in his father's name.

Buster peered at him anxiously, perhaps speculating if he needed to call for help.

Slowly, Kurt pulled out his badge, placed it on the corner, and pushed it toward the clerk. He had no idea as to whether it would work, and it was a total abuse of his authority, but he was willing to chance it. After all, what was the worst that might happen? Liza Capwell fining him for flashing his identification? Big woo.

Buster looked down at the badge and poked it with a finger. "Yes, sir!" he snapped, saluting.

Kurt stared.

"Let me just see what we have available," Buster sang, before poking his tongue out between his teeth.

Kurt blinked slowly. "I'd like a four-wheel drive vehicle, if at all possible, preferably with air conditioning and satellite navigation."

Buster nodded and whistled a merry tune.

He wasn't sure why, but Kurt found this entire experience to be surreal. It shouldn't have been, but it was, and he wanted to laugh. He didn't, because he had the feeling that Buster would, in retaliation, saddle him with a jalopy which would drop dead the moment he pulled out of the airport.

Buster finally offered a late-model, fully-loaded SUV, which Kurt deemed acceptable. Buster quoted the price, and Kurt offered his credit card and driver's license.

Buster took it in hand and stared down at it, a perplexed look on his face.

"Do you not accept American Express?" Kurt asked.

Buster nodded. "We do. I've just never seen one like this before. I'll have to call it in."

Kurt raised a brow. Rather than annoyance, he experienced amusement and gestured for dear Buster to do just that, wanting to see what would happen. As Buster finally got hold of an American Express agent and explained the situation, he began to flush slowly.

Kurt's eyes darkened as he heard the agent berate the clerk for wasting the time of both herself and her client, explaining that a _black_ American Express pretty much guaranteed the client whatever the hell he wanted. He might have appreciated the reinforcement, but there was no need for the bitch to be rude.

He held out his hand, silently demanding the phone.

Buster stared at him, then down at the phone, and consented.

The American Express agent was still ranting, and Kurt found her choice of vocabulary to be repellent. No one should be treated this way, and certainly not some poor clerk who was just trying to do his job - especially as Buster was already, and unknowingly, breaking the rules to accommodate him.

"Excuse me," he drawled, "to whom am I speaking?"

"Who is _this_?" the woman demanded.

"I'm the cardholder, _Comte_ Kurt Elijah Hummel. And _you_ are?"

Kurt suppressed a smirk when Buster's eyebrows shot off his forehead and the agent on the phone sucked in a huge gasp.

"I-I'm Annie, sir, with American Express."

"I see," Kurt said quietly. "Well, Annie, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for verifying my identity and my credit line for Buster here. I appreciate your attention and courtesy. I, for one, was very impressed with the serious manner in which Buster approached our transaction, and I was relieved he took the time to ensure that I was who I claimed. Identity theft can be so troublesome, yes?"

"Uh, y-yes," Annie replied.

"What I don't appreciate," Kurt continued, "is your attitude. This young man was simply doing his job, and he asked for my permission to call American Express, which I granted. I will be writing a letter to his supervisor to commend his service. I am very distressed, however, that I feel compelled to write one of an opposing nature to yours."

"I sincerely apologize that I've upset you," said a defeated Annie.

"Oh, I'm not upset, but I would think that a person in your position would treat a colleague with the respect you yourself are owed. Now, if you'll excuse me, Annie, I just stepped off a red-eye flight from California, where I visited my uncle. His wife and young daughter were murdered by a serial killer."

Annie burst into tears.

Kurt was unmoved. "Good day," he said, before hanging up the phone.

Buster gaped at him, but Kurt merely smiled.

"Thanks," Buster whispered, blushing.

Kurt shrugged mildly. "It was the only appropriate response. She was being combative with you for absolutely no good reason, and while I appreciate the protection American Express affords its members, her behavior was unacceptable."

Buster's blush deepened.

Kurt averted his eyes and tapped the credit card nervously.

"Oh, right!" Buster exclaimed, before rushing to complete the paperwork, which he soon presented to Kurt to sign.

"Thank you," Kurt said kindly. "Do you, by chance, have any maps for purchase?"

Buster nodded. "Sure. Any specific area?"

"The Badlands."

Buster whistled. "The Badlands? That's about a four hour drive from here, and it's still dark." He gave Kurt a concerned look. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

Kurt smiled patiently, paying for the map with cash. "I'll be fine, thank you."

Buster nodded. "I'm sorry. About your uncle, I mean. I couldn't help overhearing." His eyes were pained. "That really sucks."

"Very much so, yes," Kurt agreed, before pocketing the keys. "Thank you for all of your help, and I was serious about that letter to your supervisor. What's their name, by the way?"

"Uh, Karen."

Kurt nodded. "Karen will be hearing from me by the end of the day. Good morning."

Buster stared after Kurt as he walked away. The swell of the boy's tight ass stoked feelings in Buster he felt were better off ignored, at least until he graduated from college and moved away.

 

* * *

 

What Kurt most enjoyed about road trips was the excuse to have junk food. The whole idea of driving for hours on end pretty much mandated such comestibles. Normally, he wouldn't have touched such trash with Finn's sweaty, chocolate-stained fingers, but since he was alone and would deny it until the day Rachel didn't serenade someone, he was going to indulge.

So when he stopped at the first gas station to fill the tank, he strutted inside, grabbed a shopping basket, and went to town. First, as always, was Diet Coke. The fact that the alleged establishment sold the drink of the gods in actual glass bottles, frosty and almost painful to the touch, caused him to break out in a blissful smile. A four hour drive equaled approximately seven such bottles in Kurt Economics.

Second was Funyuns, which were absolutely essential. Regrettably, the store sold only the travel-sized bags, so Kurt compensated by grabbing four of them. A pack of Pep-O-Mint Life Savers later, and he was done.

The clerk, an old man with more hair in his ears than on his head, looked at the purchases, and then at Kurt, in a suspicious way.

Kurt sniffed. "Don't judge me!" he admonished, before demanding a paper bag rather than plastic. He then took his leave.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later, Kurt was very bored. The scenery was spectacular, but since it was pretty much the same mile after mile, he had started to resent it, and Mother Nature, for mocking him. He had sung for a while, mainly to exercise his instrument, but had grown bored of that, as well, which shocked him.

Despite the early hour, he had then called to check in with Brittany, who apparently saw no problem with holding a conversation with him while simultaneously having sex with Santana. As much as he loved them, he had a _huge_ problem with that, so he quickly got off the phone. He called his father, told him all was well and that Brenda was expecting.

He tentatively broached the subject of Patrick, but Burt shut that down almost immediately. Burt was angry with Patrick for abandoning the family, and he didn't want Kurt interacting with the man while Red John was still on the loose. Kurt had rolled his eyes and played down the blowup he saw looming on the horizon. Burt allowed him to do so, because he knew his son would do what he wanted, lack of permission notwithstanding.

Finn had grabbed the phone, whining and howling about how much he missed his brother, and demanding to know what presents Kurt had procured for him. He then blathered on about Rachel, and Kurt had faked failing cell reception to get off the phone.

Three Diet Cokes and two bags of Funyuns later, Kurt stumbled across the perfect antidote to his ennui. Why he hadn't thought of it before was beyond him.

He called his boyfriend.

Matt was far more loquacious over the phone than in person, but the conversation soon turned lascivious, leaving Kurt with a painful personal problem which insisted he pull over to relieve. As Matt coaxed both of them to fruition, Kurt cooed words of love and promises of hot college sex in just a few months, when they would finally be reunited.

Satisfied, Kurt made the rest of the drive in under the allotted time. Truly a success.

 

* * *

 

Kurt hit Univille just as the town was beginning to wake.

He was charmed by the homey atmosphere and the smiles on every face. He wasn't sure if the citizens were truly happy or if they just had some really awesome Kool-Aid, but he wasn't about to ask questions.

He stopped at the gas station - for it appeared to be the only one - and replenished his fuel supply. He then parked in the town square and charged toward a coffee shop, desperate for the only elixir which could ever hope to rival Diet Coke.

He chugged down his purchase in under a minute, earning admiration from the other addicts, before leaving to head to the floral shop. As he went, he stopped to help an elderly woman cross the street. He supposed this was what being a Boy Scout must have felt like, had he ever been allowed to join. Silently cursing the homophobia of an organization which hired pedophiles to supervise young boys, he had gamely resisted the quarter his charge insisted he take.

Finally surrendering, he tipped his imaginary hat to her, she giggled, and he dashed down the sidewalk to the floral shop. It was simply rude to show up at a relative's house unannounced without a gift. He perused the selection, deemed all of it unsuitable, and then purchased several bouquets which he subsequently dismantled and refashioned into a spectacular display of horticultural genius.

Once again, the day was saved, thanks to the Gay Gene!

The clerk begged him to teach her, but she had morning halitosis and a scary wart, so he begged off, instead placing a huge order of balloons.

Yeah, he was a bitch sometimes, but he was okay with that.

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, he arrived at Leena's Bed and Breakfast, a charming Victorian home whose decorative gingerbread made his stomach do happy somersaults.

Whistling a Disney tune, Kurt decided to leave his suitcases, and grabbed his messenger bag, the flowers, and the balloons, and maneuvered himself up the stairs, eying a porch swing he desperately wanted to try. Instead he rang the bell and patiently waited.

Eventually, it was flung open and a squeal was heard, though between the flowers and the balloons, it was impossible to know who had uttered it.

Well, he could have made a very good guess, being psychic and all, but that didn't seem fair.

"Delivery for Myka Bering," he chirped.

"Myka!" Leena screeched. "Someone likes you!"

Kurt held in a snicker as he heard familiar stomps approach and a sharp intake of breath. He crossed the threshold, placed the flowers on a sideboard, still holding the balloons in front of his face.

"What on earth..." Myka mumbled.

He then burst into song, reciting flawlessly and without accompaniment, _Nessun Dorma_ , his cousin's favorite aria from Puccini's masterpiece, _Turandot_.

As the final glorious note, ridiculously high and held for an impossible number of beats, died, he stepped to the side and smiled. "Happy Birthday, Myka."

She sniffled, joyfully screamed, tossed her protein bar to the floor, wiped her eyes, and proceeded to assault him with what could only barely be described as a hug.

"Kurty!" she roared in his ear, eerily reminiscent of Finn at his most excited.

Leena, also weeping, happily took the balloons from his hand so that he could embrace his cousin, who was babbling questions at an alarming rate.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you call? Are you all right? How are you? What's going on?"

"It's your birthday; I wanted to surprise you; I'm fine, thank you; and it's your birthday!" he beamed.

She screamed again, almost surely breaking the sound barrier, and mumbled inanities into his neck.

Pete, Jinks, Artie, and Claudia had all come running at the sound of the first note, and stood staring dumbly at their normally terse and stoic colleague, when they weren't furtively sneaking glances at the boy with the amazing voice. How in the world could that have been done _live_?

"What the hell?" Pete logically asked.

Kurt took one look at him and instantly knew that this was going to be fun. His eyes became heavily lidded and gleaming.

"Well, hello," he purred.

Pete's brow arched before his eyes lighted with excitement. "Oh. My. God!" he howled, pointing a finger at Kurt. "You're gay!" He turned to Myka. "You know another gay guy!"

"Oh, no," Jinks muttered, putting a hand over his eyes, knowing where this was going.

Pete immediately pulled off his shirt.

Kurt blinked.

Myka sighed and dropped her chin onto his shoulder.

"Is this actually happening," a perplexed Kurt asked, "or did I stumble into the filming of a pornographic movie?"

Claudia and Jinks snickered.

"I love gay guys!" Pete crowed. " _This_ one," he said darkly, slapping his arm across Jinks' chest, "refuses to admit he wants me."

Kurt blinked slowly and pulled away from Myka, who was now smirking.

"You think every gay guy wants you?" Kurt asked, voice dangerous.

Pete's eyes widened comically. "But I'm hot," he said weakly.

"Granted," Kurt said, nodding, ignoring Pete's beam. "You are a very attractive man with an incredible body."

Pete did the Snoopy Dance. "See?" he demanded of Jinks. "Was that so hard?" He then rushed Kurt, pulled him into a hug, and danced them around the foyer.

"Let go of me immediately," Kurt said, "or I will rip off your ears and shove them in your back pockets so you can hear me kicking your ass."

Pete released him as everyone else, save Artie, burst into laughter.

Kurt wagged a finger at Pete, who looked like a kicked puppy. "You shouldn't assault minors."

"You're underage?" Pete said mournfully.

"Not intellectually, emotionally, or physically," he replied, "but legally, yes." He sighed. "It's very unfortunate."

Pete pulled at his hair. "Can you at least be my sassy gay best friend? I've heard they're the thing to have, and you smell _amazing_."

Kurt was dumbfounded. "And you're not even a little bit gay?"

"Nope," Jinks chirruped.

Pete looked wounded. "It could happen!"

"Not with anyone here," Myka said, glaring at him. "Keep your hands off my cousin, or I'll rip them off and feed them to wild hogs."

"Your family is violent," Pete groused.

"And I already have a boyfriend," Kurt added.

Pete frowned. "Is he cuter than me?" he whispered.

"Actually, I don't think _anyone_ is cuter than you at this particular point in time," Kurt said slowly, "except possibly my brother, who I'm fairly certain is a vertically-gifted and sometimes violent Care Bear, but I love my boyfriend."

Pete crossed his arms defensively over his chest and huffed. "What's he got that I don't?"

Kurt turned to Leena and smirked slyly at her. "He's black."

She threw back her head and cackled. "And that's what's up!"

They high-fived.

"So you're Myka's cousin?" Claudia interrupted, pushing toward Kurt, taking his hand, and pumping it up and down. "Besides the awesome singing, what's your thing?"

"Black men," he deadpanned.

Leena laughed like a hyena, Jinks quickly following suit.

"Kurt, I'm thrilled that you're here," Myka said, "but why _are_ you here?"

"To celebrate your parents' contribution to excellence," he promptly answered, smiling when she blushed. "I'm on Spring Break," he continued, "and I decided to stop over on my way back home."

"Where are you from?" Jinks asked.

Kurt grimaced. "Ohio, and let us say nothing more about it."

Jinks blinked and nodded.

"But where have you been?" Myka asked.

"California," Kurt said. "I was looking at Stanford and USC."

"By yourself?" she demanded.

He rolled his eyes. "I was staying with Aunt Brenda."

She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the living room, depositing both of them on the sofa. "How's Brenda doing? I haven't seen her in years."

Kurt became animated. "She's pregnant!" he happily exclaimed. "She and Uncle Fritz weren't trying, but it happened, and they're both thrilled." He waved a hand. "Of course, you know Aunt Brenda. She's petrified, but she'll relax once the reality sets in."

Myka nodded absently. "Is she still working?"

"Yes, but she transferred out of the LAPD. She's joined the District Attorney's office."

"I hadn't heard." She sighed. "I'm not surprised, given what happened with Phillip Stroh," she said darkly, shaking her head. "She probably should have just killed him."

"I would've," Kurt said.

They nodded.

Leena and Claudia stared.

"Are you talking about Brenda Johnson?" asked a startled Jinks.

Pete's mouth fell open.

"Why aren't we the famous ones?" Kurt demanded of his cousin, who shrugged.

"Are they famous or infamous?" Myka drawled.

"What's the difference?"

They laughed.

The others continued to stare.

"Why are they looking at you as though they've never seen you laugh?" Kurt stage-whispered.

"Because she doesn't," Pete blurted. He cocked his head. "Well, unless weird balls of pollen are involved." He blinked and then began snickering. "Balls."

"Ignore him," Myka advised. "We all learned to do it shortly after meeting him."

The others nodded. Pete pouted.

Kurt sighed. "I hate to admit it, but you really are adorable. Therefore, I _will_ be your sassy friend. In return, I reserve the right to climb all over you like a spider monkey and use your flirting to further my delusion that I'm irresistible."

"Done and done!" Pete shouted, looking smugly at the others. "Can we start now?"

Kurt thought about it and nodded. He patted the seat next to him, and Pete quickly sat down. Kurt then crawled into his lap.

"What were we talking about?" he asked Myka, eyes brimming with innocence as he nestled against a cooing Pete.

"You're so cute," Pete whispered, nuzzling his neck.

"I know," Kurt said. He looked back to Myka. "Hi."

"You. Are. Ridiculous."

"Be nice," he warned, "or I'll ask Pete to take me away from all of this."

"I'll take you anywhere," Pete promised.

"Hey, how did you know his name?" Claudia suddenly asked. "No one told you."

Kurt looked at her with approval. "The same way I know your name is Claudia Donovan, your brother's name is Joshua, you're a computer genius, Steve Jinks over there is _your_ sassy gay best friend, and you harbor a secret love for Lynda Carter."

She gasped, covered her mouth with a hand, and pointed accusingly at him. "What magic is this?" she demanded.

"Artie Nielsen, Steve Jinks, and the stunningly delicious Leena, for whom a surname would be anticlimactic," he continued, making his way around the room. "And, finally, there's my new BFF, Pete Lattimer."

"Let's get matching tattoos!" Pete said.

"I'll pass," Kurt said, "but I'd be happy to poke you repeatedly with needles."

Pete just smiled stupidly. So did Leena, for that matter.

Kurt looked at her. "What do you see?"

She narrowed her eyes, and then her mouth fell open. "How did you do that?"

"What?" Jinks asked.

"He...he _unleashed_ his aura," she whispered, shaking her head. "I can't think of another word for it. He was suppressing it somehow."

Kurt just shrugged. "Ask your questions, Mr. Weisfelt," he said to Artie, who blanched.

"How do you know that name?" Artie hissed.

"I know many things," Kurt answered mysteriously. "My last name is Hummel, by the way. You know, for when you ask Claudia to run my name through the system, which you'll do as soon as Leena offers to serve coffee in the kitchen, which should be in about, oh, three minutes."

Myka smirked.

"Am I lying?" he asked Jinks.

"No," the man said softly, shaking his head in both confusion and consternation.

"What are you?" Artie asked.

Kurt grinned. "I remember when I was five and my heterosexual life partner, also named Artie, asked me that very question."

He paused. "I have certain...abilities, as most of you do. Myka has an eidetic memory, as do I. Claudia has a gift with technology that would probably make the combined security agencies of the world green with envy. Leena can read auras, Steve can tell when people are lying, and Pete gets vibes."

He shrugged. "I'm not that special."

Myka snorted and Kurt blushed delicately, causing Pete to snuggle him more closely.

"You're psychic," Leena said, "and stronger than any psychic I've ever encountered."

"You haven't met Allison," Myka and Kurt both said.

Leena stared. "Allison DuBois?" she hesitantly asked. "You know her?"

"She's our cousin," Myka said.

"You're related to both her and Brenda Johnson?" Artie asked, shaking his head. "There was nothing about that in your file."

"I'm not related to Brenda," she explained. "She and Kurt are cousins through the Hummel side. I'm Kurt's cousin on his mother's side, as is Allison, though she and Kurt are more closely related than she and I." She frowned. "I can never remember the degree."

"What's important is that we're all beautiful," Kurt said.

"True," she said, nodding. She turned to face him. "You're hiding something."

He feigned innocence.

"I know you," she said wryly.

He squirmed in Pete's lap and his eyes went suddenly very wide.

"Oops," Pete said sheepishly, blushing.

Kurt slid off and resumed his seat between Myka and Pete, who looked at him forlornly. He patted Pete's thigh. "I understand. Sometimes it just happens."

Pete's blush deepened.

"Avoiding," Myka sang.

"Harpy," Kurt hissed. He then sighed. "I stopped in Sacramento."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, as she paled. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Kurt looked down at his lap. "I missed him."

The anger melted from her face and she bit her lip. "I know." She paused. "How...how is he doing?"

"Not well," he admitted, "but I think I got him back on track. His friends will do the rest."

"Were you exposed?" she demanded.

"Not to Red John," he insisted.

"Red John!" everyone else screeched.

Myka glared them into silence. "Are you okay?" she quietly asked Kurt.

"I'm better now," he said. "It was so good to see him, Myka." He shrugged. "Besides, I had to go." He swallowed and averted his eyes. "Charlie asked."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You've seen her?"

He nodded.

"Have you seen Angela?"

"No," he whispered, "but I saw Uncle Joe."

She closed her eyes. "That was awful. I was so upset I couldn't get to the funeral."

He grabbed her hand. "Allison understood," he said kindly. "So many people came, Myka, and I think she was more overwhelmed than comforted."

She nodded miserably.

"I'm very uncomfortable," Jinks announced to no one in particular.

"Like Pete's shirt, your feelings are irrelevant," Kurt said.

Jinks stared. The stare grew more concentrated when Myka started tittering.

She shrugged apologetically. "It was funny."

"It was, Jinxie," Claudia agreed. "Especially because Pete has yet to put his shirt back on."

Pete blinked when he realized she was right. He didn't make a move for his shirt, however.

"I'm a very bitchy person," Kurt said. "Please don't take offense to my offhanded comments." He shrugged. "Or do. I don't care."

"You're unbelievable," Jinks said.

Kurt nodded. "So says everyone who has ever met me. Please strive to be more original."

To his own surprise, Jinks started laughing.

"Why are you here?" Artie barked.

"Watch it, Artie," Pete shot back, Myka backing him up with a glare.

Artie was incredulous.

"Relax, Rumpled Clothes Man," Kurt sniped. "I have no interest in your Warehouse or its wealth of secrets. There's so much psychic energy emanating from that mountain that, when I drove past it, I almost blacked out."

"Why?" Claudia asked.

"Do you know what a medium is?" he asked her.

Leena paled and had to sit down. "Oh, dear god."

Kurt nodded, turning back to Artie. "I know what the Warehouse is, as do most people who can do what I do. I know you're very good at your job, Mr. Nielsen, and I respect you for that. You do your absolute best to protect this world and the people in it, and that's admirable. You have your secrets and I won't disclose them, but I will tell you one thing: if you even _try_ to actualize your pathetic plan to have some friends from your days at the NSA drop by to pick me up, we're going to have a problem, and you won't like the results."

"That won't be necessary," a voice said from behind them.

Everyone turned to face the sound.

"Hello, Mrs. Frederic."

The woman nodded. "It's good to see you again, Kurt," she said. "I do have to wonder, however, why there was no mention of you in Myka's file."

He gave her a bland look. "Because I didn't want there to be."

Mrs. Frederic nodded once more, this time more stiffly, as the others gaped.

"How do you two know each other?" Myka demanded.

"Mrs. Frederic tried to recruit me two years ago," Kurt said, "after I went to work for Liza Capwell." His voice turned stiff. "She tried again several months back, after...the unpleasantness."

Myka's eyes filled with angry concern. "That should never have happened!"

"But it did," he said quietly, "and I'm okay now."

"What happened?" Pete asked.

Kurt fidgeted but said nothing.

"Kurt was stalked and then attacked by a serial killer terrorizing the Midwest," Mrs. Frederic explained. "His name was Mark Cunningham, popularly known as the Shadow Man."

"Holy shit," Claudia murmured.

"And I killed him," Kurt said, with a strength in his voice which was betrayed by the hollowness of his tone.

Pete pulled him close.

"Mr. Hummel is one of the strongest mediums walking the planet," Mrs. Frederic continued, "and is matched only by a few of his relatives."

"It runs in the family," mumbled an embarrassed Kurt, gently extricating himself from Pete's suffocating embrace.

"As he said, I twice attempted to recruit him," she added, "but he turned me down."

"Why?" Claudia asked.

Kurt looked at her. "You've seen the damage the artifacts can do, and it's your job to hunt them down, catalogue them, and store them safely, but it wouldn't be that easy for me." He dropped his eyes. "When I passed the Warehouse, over a hundred spirits, some of them not even knowing they were dead, bombarded me, wanting to know what had happened to them."

He shook his head. "It was overwhelming. I couldn't work there. It would drive me crazy." He turned to Mrs. Frederic. "Just tell Mr. Nielson that I pose no risk to him or the others. I'm only staying a few hours, anyway."

"Kurty, no," Myka whined. "Don't let Artie chase you off."

"I'm not," he smiled, "but my break is almost over, and I'll need to rest before I start back at school."

"Arthur," Mrs. Frederic said in her most imperious voice, "believe me when I tell you that Mr. Hummel has been thoroughly vetted. Your paranoia and instinct to safeguard, while valuable, are unnecessary in this circumstance."

Artie looked dubious.

Kurt looked at Claudia. "Grab your laptop and go for it."

She looked at Artie, who nodded, and then at Mrs. Frederic, who shrugged. She rose to her feet, went to the kitchen, and returned with her computer, plugging in Kurt's name. She frowned, relentlessly pounded several keys, and then looked up with shock on her face.

"There's nothing," she whispered. "Not even the standard stuff, like vital statistics. I'm blocked." She shook her head in confusion. "There's no system I can't hack."

"That's not strictly true," Kurt said carefully.

Claudia was dumbfounded.

"Given what Mr. Hummel can do," Mrs. Frederic said, "several agencies have gone to great lengths to shield his identity. As he has relatives in almost every one of those agencies, they make sure to keep him well guarded, even from each other."

Kurt nodded. "LAPD, NYCDA, CBI, CIA, FBI, NCIS, OSI, OBI, Homeland Security, the Jeffersonian, the Secret Service, Mossad, Interpol, and Scotland Yard."

"Damn," Pete whispered. "You are hooked up!"

"I have a very large extended family," Kurt said, "all of whom for which I am extremely grateful."

"I apologize," said a defeated Artie.

"For what?" asked a puzzled Kurt. "Don't apologize for doing your job. I'd be suspicious, too, if some unknown relative popped up unannounced and knowing things they shouldn't." He shrugged. "Besides, I need your help."

"With what?" Artie asked, now very interested.

Kurt turned to Myka. "An item has come into my possession - I won't say from where - and it needs your particular brand of attention."

Myka was now all business. "What is it?"

"Claudia, would you please retrieve my bag from the front porch?" he asked.

"Sure," she chirped, skipping off. Opera, conspiracies, secret familial ties, psychic phenomena, and now mysterious objects! This day was turning out to be way cool. Also, there would be cake later. Score.

She returned a moment later, swinging the bag from her arm.

"Unlock the clasp," Kurt said. "The first compartment has a false bottom, shielded with lead."

She nodded. "That explains why it's so damn heavy." She did as he asked and then peered inside. "There's a box!" she triumphantly announced.

"Well done," Kurt drawled.

She glared at him, which had no effect.

"Take it out," Kurt instructed, "and open it carefully, but do not touch the item. Leena, whatever shields you've created for your abilities, employ them now."

Leena blinked and then nodded, steeling herself.

Claudia gingerly removed the box and opened it, before placing it on the coffee table and backing away. Curiosity was one of her predilections, but stupidity wasn't.

"What is that?" Artie asked, frowning as he stared down.

"Do you recognize it, Mrs. Frederic?" Kurt asked.

"Only by legend," the woman said softly. "The Regents have theorized its existence, but no extant records describe, or even mention, it." She looked up at him, eyes bright. "Where did you get it?"

"I can't answer that," Kurt said apologetically. "Needless to say, from someone I trust implicitly, and should they stumble across anything else of its like, it will be forwarded to me, and I, in turn, will send it your way."

That was in no way a satisfactory response, but she knew better than to press her luck. The Regents would likely dismiss her, were she to alienate such a valuable contact. Besides, it was now safely in the possession of the Warehouse, which was really all that mattered. She nodded.

"But what is it?" Pete demanded.

"Jocasta's brooch," Kurt whispered.

A thunderstruck Myka cocked her head. "Jocasta's brooch," she slowly repeated. She blinked heavily. "Jocasta as in _Jocasta_? The mother of Oedipus?"

Kurt nodded.

"No way," Claudia murmured, scooting forward to get a closer look.

"Way," Kurt said. "Right now, you are looking at the artifact that is the genesis of the Oedipus complex. That is the very brooch Oedipus used to gouge out his eyes when he realized he had inadvertently killed his father and married his mother."

Pete wrinkled his nose. "Ew."

Kurt patted his knee. "Big help, sweetie."

Pete grinned.

"Oedipus was real?" Jinks asked. "Like, a real person? As in, _not_ a myth?"

Kurt nodded. "Precisely."

"Holy shit," Artie blurted.

"Well, I think that says it all," Mrs. Frederic smoothly interrupted. "The question now is what to do with it." She shocked all of them by looking to Kurt for the answer.

"I would suggest you, Myka, Claudia, or Steve take it and log it in at the Warehouse," Kurt replied. "It's not safe for Artie or Pete to handle, and while it's likely its power would have no affect on Leena or myself, the residual psychic energy it contains would have ramifications for our mental health."

Leena appeared relieved.

"No thanks," Claudia said.

Myka held up her hands. "It's my birthday!"

They all looked at Jinks, who sighed. "Why me?" he whined.

"Because, like me, you're gay," Kurt answered. "You're not at risk for the Oedipus complex. Let's just call it a twist on affirmative action."

Leena and Claudia snickered.

"Wait," Pete said slowly. "You mean _that_ ," he continued, pointing at the brooch, "could...my _mother_...and me...no. Hell no."

"Look how smart you are!" Kurt said cheerfully, reaching over and pulling on one of Pete's nipples.

"Ooh!"

"That's the most action you're getting from me."

Pete stuck out his lower lip. "Not even a manly massage?"

"There is no such thing."

"How about a little kiss?"

"Gay," Kurt pronounced.

"No," Pete countered. "It's just experimenting."

"You're too old to be experimenting, Peter," Kurt said. "If you don't know by now what you are, neither Steve nor I can help you."

Pete glared and then brightened. "Well, could you and Jinks make out and let me watch?"

Kurt shrugged. "That's between you and Claudia. I imagine she's already asserted full Fruit Fly Viewership Rights to any and all of Steve's future romantic encounters."

Claudia nodded. "Duh."

Jinks blinked. "Huh? When did that happen?"

Kurt looked disdainfully at him. "You're a bad gay. You should return your toaster oven."

"What toaster oven?" Jinks demanded. "I never got any toaster oven!"

"That's an unfortunate oversight," Kurt said, sighing. "I'll give you the address to submit a complaint."

"To whom?" asked an amused Myka.

Kurt shrugged. "The Gay Mafia, of course."

"I knew it was real!" Pete triumphantly shouted.

Jinks was utterly bewildered. "But...I'm just gay. I like guys. That's all."

"No, no, no," Kurt tutted. "There's much more to it than that. We can go over your responsibilities at a later time." He turned. "Claudia, I presume you'll be available to take notes?"

"Of course," she said, nodding.

"Responsibilities?" Jinks asked.

"Yes," Kurt said. "You've already met the first two: you're incredibly attractive with a good body."

Jinks blushed against his will.

"Third, you've obviously pollinated well, as you've attracted an extremely intelligent, witty, and beautiful Fruit Fly," he added, nodding at Claudia, who beamed.

"Who's your Fruit Fly?" Claudia asked.

Kurt reached over to his bag, withdrew his iPad, and began to scroll through his pictures. "Gather round."

They did, including Artie and Mrs. Frederic, against their better judgment.

"This is Santana Lopez," Kurt announced, proudly displaying her portrait. "She's the Number One of my harem."

"Harem?" asked a confused Jinks.

"Brr. She looks scary," Pete noted, shivering.

"Oh, she is!" Kurt said brightly. "She's absolutely terrifying, which is wonderfully entertaining for me. She knows about my abilities, of course, and goes out of her way to ensure my happiness."

A befuddled Jinks shook his head to clear it as Kurt gamely continued.

"This is Brittany Pierce. She actually holds all the power of the harem, though few people, including others in the harem, are aware of this. Santana, a truly Machiavellian dilettante, is but a figurehead. She's extremely intimidating and has only one weakness: Brittany."

"Lesbians!" Pete happily exclaimed. "I _love_ lesbians!"

Kurt scrutinized him. "Remind me later to introduce you to a friend of mine. His name is Dean, and you and he would get along very well." He kept scrolling. "This is Mercedes Jones, my sassy black friend."

Leena arched a brow.

"Her description," Kurt assured her, "not mine. As much as Mercedes eschews stereotypes, she's the living embodiment of one and revels in that fact."

Leena smirked and nodded.

"Tina Cohen-Chang," he continued. "She walks softly, but carries a big stick. That's not a euphemism, by the way. She has a big stick and will beat you with it, but only if you truly irritate her. This usually occurs when an idiot espouses Edward Cullen as the pinnacle of vampire lore."

Claudia grinned. "I like her."

Kurt nodded. "This is Rachel Berry. She and I have a complicated history, in that I detest her. However, since she's dating my stepbrother, Finn, and their alleged relationship is apparently serious, I tolerate her. She's a very good singer."

"She looks intense," Jinks remarked.

"She's a discount Alexis Colby who tries to pass herself off as Krystle Carrington, and dresses like Darla from _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , circa Season One."

Claudia gave a low whistle. "Unacceptable."

"She frequently is, yes," Kurt agreed, "so I try to distance myself from her as much as possible, which can be difficult, given she's under the delusion that we're best friends."

"Bangs," was Pete's contribution.

"She's the Nancy McKeon of the new millennium."

Most were stunned when a snort escaped from Mrs. Frederic.

"Finally, there is Quinn Fabray."

"She's gorgeous," Pete whispered.

"And evil," Kurt said cheerfully. "Delightfully so. She's what you get when you combine Santana and Brittany: extremely dangerous, but you will never see her coming. Brittany will most likely be voted _Sweetest_ , and Santana _Most Likely to Have an Anti-Personnel Device Secreted on Her Person._ Quinn will be the _Most Likely to Succeed._ She's a valued ally.

"And last, but never least, is Sam Evans, otherwise known as Prince Charming."

Jinks barely refrained from drooling over the picture of a hunky blond.

Kurt smiled fondly at the portrait. "He's the male best friend I never thought I'd have."

"It's nice to put faces with the names," Myka said.

He nodded and looked up at Jinks. "You have work to do, young padawan. Also, you should really start a bromance with Pete. Straight guys make for awesome cannon fodder."

"Told you so," Pete, who had no idea what Kurt was talking about, said smugly to Jinks, who smirked.

 

* * *

 

Two hours and another unsuccessful recruitment attempt later, Mrs. Frederic had left in the blink of an eye, off to do whatever it was she did, while Jinks begrudgingly took the brooch to the Warehouse. Claudia went with him, just in case Kurt's prediction turned out to be false and Jinks suddenly became overly fascinated with his mother.

Leena started lunch, with which an unprompted Kurt insisted on helping.

Artie, Myka, and Pete lounged about the living room, drinking coffee and contemplating the events of the day so far. Artie still hadn't warmed up to Kurt and was bothered by the fact that Kurt could have cared less.

Pete, on the other hand, was raving about how adorable Kurt was and what an awesome wingman he'd be. Visions of dragging Kurt to various clubs and using him to score hot chicks danced his head. After all, what girl in her right mind could resist Kurt? Hell, Pete could barely resist him, and he wasn't even gay!

Myka scanned her memory files for everything pertaining to her cousin, deciding that it was time she played a more active role in his life, as well as that of their family. She'd been horrified when word had been passed down to her that Kurt had been attacked by that monster, who Kurt had had to kill in self-defense. She hadn't even known he was working for the District Attorney, let alone working the Shadow Man case!

Not that she could've stopped him of course, but she could have strenuously objected and demanded to be placed on the Must Call List in case of emergency. Having to hear about it from Olivia Dunham had been galling, given Myka herself was much closer to Kurt than her. Not to mention the fact that Olivia had only known because she was FBI, and Kurt had been part of a joint task force. Word had trickled down to Olivia, who was off in Boston doing strange things no one knew about or discussed, and she had reached out to the others.

Well, those who weren't psychic, that is; namely, Allison and Melinda.

It was so unfair that she didn't have mysterious and indefinable powers! Not that she would really want them, of course.

She could only imagine how Brenda must have reacted to the news and was surprised Los Angeles hadn't suffered an earthquake on that fateful day, or at least a localized zombie apocalypse with Brenda as the Queen of the Damned.

"How does he manage?" Artie quietly asked, and then appeared surprised when Myka began to answer.

"Because he has no other choice," she said sadly. "It's who he is, Artie; he's never known anything different. Almost everything he sees is violent, the very worst of what man does to his fellow man. He deals with it because he has to, and we, his family, are forced to watch as he does."

She closed her eyes. "I remember when he became active, shortly after his mother's death. She was psychic, too, but nowhere near as powerful as Kurt. We don't know exactly how, but we believe she somehow acted as a buffer for his abilities."

Her eyes turned distant. "It was the day of the funeral. Kurt had fallen asleep shortly after we went back to the house for the reception. We were glad for it, really; he hadn't slept for days. It was less than an hour later when he woke up screaming."

She turned to look at Artie. "He had dreamed of the rape and murder of a child three counties ever. He saw everything in excruciating detail. Luckily, there were enough law enforcement professionals in the house to get the information out the proper authorities."

"How did he handle it?" Pete asked.

Myka shrugged. "Like he does everything else: he confronts it directly. He'll then either put it behind him, or repress it just enough so that it doesn't haunt him every day for the rest of his life."

"What?" Pete whispered.

She stared at him. "Kurt's closure rate is a hundred percent, Pete. He's never been wrong, and he always somehow manages to get his hands on the evidence needed for convictions, but his dreams or vision or vibes, whatever you want to call them, aren't just limited to Ohio. He picks up things from throughout the country and even from around the world."

Pete blinked in confusion.

"But the details aren't always clear," she continued. "The images are shadowed, or the assailant's face is hidden, or the dream doesn't last long enough to give him a firm idea of location." She paused. "He's amazing at what he does, and I think by the time he reaches Allison's age, he'll have surpassed even her, but for every case he solves, ten more go unsolved."

"That's not his fault," Artie said.

"Of course it isn't," she agreed, "but he thinks it is. He blames himself for not being able to save everyone because he doesn't understand why he has visions of people he's not meant to save." She sighed. "There's no rhyme or reason to it. There's no supervisor to ask. There's no training to be had. It's all trial and error, and while he's had incredible successes, it's the losses to which he clings."

She pressed her lips together tightly. "He's only seventeen, but he's been seeing these things for a dozen years. Think about that. Think about the homicide cops you know, or the agents who deal with the worst of the worst. We know people who've been doing this as long as Kurt has, and we know what happens to them, how they change and what they become. And Kurt's only _seventeen_."

Pete and Artie fell silent, contemplating her words.

"None of us wants this for him," Myka said after a few moments, "but we have no more choice in the matter than he does. To allow him _not_ to do this would essentially be the same as telling him to embrace insanity. He has to do this in order to function."

She shook her head. "Thankfully, Allison and Melinda were able to help him, insofar as they understand their own abilities - which, by the way, are not the same as his, though they are similar. Melinda can will away ghosts when she's very determined, but not everyone can.

"Allison, who experiences things much like Kurt, but with her mind's own unique flair, was basically a functioning alcoholic as a teenager. Thankfully, Kurt was able to resist that lure with her guidance. He's a very strong person, formidable even, but he is human, despite what some people want to think."

She gathered a breath. "We almost lost him last year. We understand that it's probable we will lose him before he loses any of us, whether to a case or the safety of his own mind, into which he might one day retreat and never emerge. We accept that because there's no alternative, and we don't fight him because he would just ignore us. So we do what we can, what he'll allow."

"Does he really hold that much power over your family?" a curious Artie asked.

She shook her head in annoyance. "He's the eldest of the babies, Artie, the first of his generation. He's the youngest of his branch, as well as the last, until he has his own children. Allison's girls are right behind him, and all of them have shown psychic ability, but Allie is twenty years older than Kurt. Melinda's son is barely out of toddlerhood. Brenda's pregnant, but she's in her mid-forties. Camille has a foster daughter, but I doubt she'll have children of her own, and I think the same is true of Ziva. Tommy's child died while in the womb, and Patrick's daughter was murdered.

"Neal, Kate, Olivia, Alex, and I haven't even married, let alone considered children." She paused. "Do you understand?"

"Kurt's the bridge," Pete said. "He'll be the family leader of the next generation. You safeguard him now because you know he'll be the one to safeguard your children."

She nodded. "Exactly. Once we're gone, or too old to play this game, or are simply removed from the board, it will fall on him, and he will accept the burden, as he's accepted so many others. That's why it's imperative to establish a network for him now, so he'll be able to draw on it when he's the one in charge."

She ran her tongue over her lip. "You have to understand the nature of our family. We can trace ourselves back for centuries, but our origins have been lost to time. So we keep records as best we can. We keep track of each other, even though we're scattered throughout the world."

"You're losing me," Pete said, frowning.

"Like attracts like. We've all seen it in our jobs: partners falling in love, cops marrying cops or other law enforcement operatives, which is why we have so many in our family. It's the same with psychic gifts. Psychics often marry each other or pair up with other sensitives, particularly those with at least a mild degree of empathy, like Joe DuBois or Jim Clancy, Allison and Melinda's husbands.

"We keep track of each other because we never know when another psychic will be born, or the degree of power they will possess. Such gifts literally run in the family. In Kurt's case, on both sides. This will likely continue, the more children we have. So whether we have eidetic memories, empaths, telepaths, mentalists, psychics, ghost whisperers, mediums, or whatever you want to call us, we ensure they will be surrounded with love, support, and understanding."

She cleared her throat, flushing lightly. "If I were to get married or have a child, or both, and something happened to me, I know that you, that all of you, would look after that child. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that, how much I respect and admire you for that, but..."

"We're not family," Pete said kindly, nodding. "I get it. And Kurt holds your absolute trust."

She nodded tightly. "I could have a psychic child, or that child could have an eidetic memory like Kurt and I do. That child would probably work in some arm of law enforcement, as an attorney, a forensic investigator, a physician, or a cop. I don't know if I believe in predestination, and I'm not religious, but it's apparent that some force has...dominion over our family, blessing or cursing us with these gifts, these skills, and ensuring we use them to help others."

Pete and Artie looked at her in both fear and awe.

Well, that wasn't new.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, Myka wondering if she had offered too much information, though she didn't believe that to be the case. She wanted them to understand. More than that, she _needed_ them to understand, and perhaps understanding her family would allow them to understand her better, particularly her need for control and her desire to understand how everything around her worked.

That silence was soon broken as Leena and Kurt began singing an impromptu duet of a recent Adele hit. Suddenly, Kurt's voice just opened up and boomed throughout the house.

"Wow," Pete murmured. "He can really sing. I don't mean, like, singing in the car or shower, or for _American Idol_ or something. He really _sings_ , like, from his soul or something." He looked embarrassed he had said something so corny.

"It's his therapy," Myka said. "It helps him cope, just like trivia and obsessive reading helps me."

"But he seems so normal," Artie observed. "He's looking at colleges, has a boyfriend, sings..."

"He's also a cheerleader, the captain of the number one ranked team in the country," Myka interrupted.

"Bendy," Pete reverently whispered.

"...but he has this whole other life," Artie finished. "Does the boyfriend know?"

Myka frowned. "Probably some of it, but I doubt he knows everything. We've all been very careful about that. I don't know Matt, have never met him, but they've been dating for almost two years now, even though they live in different states. Kurt is the type of person who takes relationships seriously.

"Matt is planning on going to whatever college Kurt selects. If Matt can't get in, he'll go to a neighboring school so they can remain together. I don't know if they'll get married, but I imagine they'll be together for quite a few years."

"Does Kurt want kids?" Pete asked.

Myka stilled, drawing in on herself. "He's never said," she said softly. "I think he'd be an amazing father, but I think he's scared of what a child of his would be like, of how much power they might hold. That's the thing, you see, the gifts only get stronger with each generation. He wouldn't want his life for his child." She sighed. "But I also know that, even if he could, he wouldn't give up what he can do."

Pete and Artie nodded.

Mrs. Frederic stood on the threshold, unobserved, before disappearing once more.

 

* * *

 

Everyone raved about the lunch Kurt and Leena had prepared, though the latter insisted the former had done most of the work, which only caused Pete to become even more infatuated with Kurt.

"Why do you have to leave so soon?" he whined. "You're my new BFF and are abandoning me."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll survive." He blinked. "Why don't you come to my graduation in May? Myka was planning on going, and you can meet some of my other family, too."

Pete beamed and nodded.

It was then when Helena burst into the room, sauntering up to the table and eye-fucking everyone in the vicinity, as was her wont. When her gaze fell on Kurt, her head reared back and her eyes opened widely.

"You," she whispered.

" _Not_ me," Kurt said primly, "but I know of you, of course." He paused. "I didn't think you were still running around." He smirked. "Imagine my surprise."

"You know of her?" Myka said slowly.

His smirk grew. "I know the legend of H.G. Wells, including what lies behind that legend." He waved a hand. "Well, some of it anyway."

"You look so much like..." Helena whispered.

"But I'm not," Kurt said, voice short.

She nodded uneasily. "Then you must be a descendent."

He arched a brow. "Indeed."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Visiting my cousin for her birthday," he said innocently, gesturing to Myka.

Helena's eyes slowly panned to the other woman. "You're related," she murmured.

Myka blinked. "I'm related to a lot of people."

"Family business," Kurt said.

Myka immediately shut up, much to Pete's surprise.

"I'll tell you more at another time," he continued, turning to Helena. "I trust this will stay between us for now?"

She inhaled sharply and nodded. "Are you also..."

"Yes."

Helena jerked and fell silent.

"What the hell is going on?" Artie asked, brow furrowed in anger. He had never trusted Helena, despite her good deeds, always suspicious she was working some angle.

"That's our business," Kurt said, "and none of yours."

"Now, wait just a minute!"

Kurt's eyes flashed. "It has nothing to do with you or the Warehouse, Mr. Nielsen. It's personal and will remain as such, so there's no use badgering Myka, as it's obvious she's in the dark. She will remain there for now, and even after she's informed, she won't be telling you."

Myka looked at Artie and shrugged.

He knew, in that moment, it would useless to try and force the information from her once she had it. Myka could be incredibly stubborn when motivated, and by now he had some idea of what this boy meant to her and the lengths she would go to protect him.

"It's nothing bad," Kurt added, "and Helena is no danger to you or the Warehouse. If you don't want to trust her, that's your own business and it's fine with me, but know that I do trust her with Myka's well-being. You understand what that means."

Artie glared, but eventually nodded.

Kurt wiped his mouth, gathered his dishes, rose to his feet, and put them in the sink.

"It's time for me to go," he said softly.

"Kurty, no," Myka whispered.

He smiled sadly at her. "I have to. I'm cutting it close as it is."

"At least let me go the airport with you," she protested.

"Don't be ridiculous. That would be eight hours for you, roundtrip, and today is your birthday. I don't want you spending it trapped in a car. Go out and have fun. Have a drink for me."

She pouted and glared sullenly at the tabletop.

He laughed. "I'll see you soon," he said. "Graduation is just around the corner. It will be a family reunion, of sorts." He looked at the others. "You're welcome to attend. Claudia and Steve, as well."

Myka frowned. "What's going on here, Kurt?"

He ignored her and stared at Helena. "Your presence is requested."

She carefully nodded.

"What did you see?" Myka barked.

He slowly turned toward her. "Something's coming."

She stared at him, puzzled. "Something like a natural disaster or a family emergency?"

"The latter."

She exhaled. "How big?"

"I don't know yet," he answered honestly. "I don't know if I'll get more information." He frowned. "It's as though something is blocking me." He nodded to himself. "I'll check with Allie. I don't want to worry Melinda just yet."

Myka opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

"I don't know," he said in response to her unasked question. "I'm not even sure if it will happen at graduation." He shrugged. "If not, sometime during the summer." He nodded. "Yes, that feels more right."

He stared into his cousin's eyes. "Don't tell the others," he warned. "It will only cause panic, especially among the New York and New England contingents." He rolled his eyes. "You know how reactionary they can be. Allison will be on the lookout. I'll keep you apprised."

Myka looked depressed. "I guess that's all I can ask."

Kurt was despondent. "I'm sorry to end the day on such a somber note."

She shook her head. "Forewarned, even if only marginally, is forearmed. We'll get through it."

He nodded and smiled. "We will. Now, come give me a hug."

She stood and shot into his arms. "Thank you for coming."

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she said quietly.

Other words passed between them, lost to everyone else, and soon Kurt had gathered his bag and was off, Myka standing on the porch and waving sadly long after his rental had disappeared from sight.

"What was that?" Pete murmured.

"Bad," she replied, turning toward him. "He wouldn't have said anything if it wasn't."

"Well, then we'll just have to stop it," Helena said forcefully.

" _We_?" Myka pressed.

Helena was silent for a long moment. "I am indebted to your family," she said finally, "and I take that quite seriously. I may not have realized you were a member of that family, but that only strengthens my resolve to assist."

"What the hell is happening here?" Pete asked.

Myka and Helena exchanged a long look.

"There's more to this world than you realize, Pete," Helena said, "and you should be grateful for that. Most people don't want to know more, and if it becomes necessary that you be told, you will long for your present ignorance." She looked back to Myka. "Do you know?"

"Only bits and pieces," Myka reluctantly answered. "There are others who know more, who can do more, but it's not discussed."

"Family business," Helena whispered, nodding.

"Indeed," Myka said, recalling Kurt's words. She smiled wryly. "Welcome to the Family."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell from this chapter, there is an overarching theme to this story, which will culminate in a story of its own down the line.
> 
> This series basically sets up Kurt's extended family. It's more of a psychological/introspective/emotional work than a mystery/detective type story, and there's a purpose to that, so while I'm incorporating characters of other fandoms, I'm not delving too deeply into those fandoms, so that I can later violate their canons and stretch the characters to suit my whims. Bwa-ha-ha!


	4. Rite of Passage, Part One

"I can't wait for you to see my graduation dress!" Mercedes howled at him.

Kurt gave her his most unimpressed look. "It has polka dots, doesn't it?"

She blinked.

"Green ones."

Her eyes narrowed.

He held up a hand. "I can't."

"Green looks _good_ on me!" she insisted, rolling her neck and eyes for emphasis.

"Lime green looks good on no one," he said flatly, "but thank you for saving me from another fluorescent Serengeti experience."

She sniffed and looked away, blushing slightly. Looking back on it, that coat _had_ been awful, though she would never admit it.

"I'll bet you a new Chanel clutch that Noah calls you She-Hulk and/or Gumby before the ceremony has concluded," he added.

She glared at him. "And what do I get you when you _won't_ win?"

He smiled pleasantly. "You swear on the name of Angela Bassett that you will never again wear polka dots."

Her eyes widened as she swallowed heavily. "Harsh, but fine. I got this dress, baby boy."

He nodded. "I also want it in writing."

She stomped over to her seat and threw herself into it.

Finn dashed in and plopped down next to him, anxious to soak up all the Furt he could before they left for college. He was still seething that Kurt was moving next week to intern for his aunt in Washington. "Hey! Did you pick up your tickets?"

Kurt nodded. "I did. They begrudgingly sold me the extras I requested when I pointed out they'd be lucky to fill half of the bleachers."

Finn grinned and then frowned. "How many did you get?"

"Including those for Dad and my grandmother, sixteen."

Finn gave an exaggerated blink.

"Say what?" Artie called out. "Who the hell did you invite? The Kardashians and their extended family?"

Kurt arched a brow. "Please. It will be bad enough dealing with Mercedes' polka dots. I couldn't stomach what the Ewok sisters and their pimp mother would attempt to pass off as fashion."

Artie snickered and Mercedes unleashed a thunderous scowl.

"I invited my family, of course," Kurt said.

"We don't have that much family," Finn countered.

"I do," Kurt said. "My cousin Myka is coming, along with her partner, Pete, and their friends Claudia, Steve, Leena, and Helena. Aunt Cam is coming with Uncle Seeley, and Aunt Alex is flying in from New York. Ariel is home from Dartmouth; she'll stay with Bridgette and Marie so Aunt Allie can come. Also, Aunt Brenda and Uncle Fritz are coming."

He frowned. "I'm just surprised Figgins didn't force me to buy an extra ticket for Aunt Brenda's fetus."

Santana, who had overheard, laughed.

Kurt shrugged. "And Justine and Liza are attending, of course."

Finn slowly shook his head. "How do I keep forgetting all of these people?"

Kurt patted his knee and smiled. "You haven't met them yet. They're all very excited to meet you, however. I told them I have the best brother in the world."

Finn's eyes welled as he gave Kurt a suffocating hug.

"Princess!" Puck bellowed. "Where the hell did you get so much family?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "From Wal-Mart." He sneered. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's where you get everything in your wardrobe. It's called genetics, Noah. I'm not surprised you were unaware, given how averse you can be to polysyllabic words."

Puck sniggered and reached forward to tickle Kurt's sides, planting a sloppy kiss on Kurt's cheek for good measure as Kurt laughed hysterically and then grimaced.

"Ugh! Lips of _Puck_!"

"What about Patrick?" Santana demanded. "I've seen the pictures and he's a hot piece. I want a taste."

Kurt soured. "He's working a case, Jezebel. I'll send your regards."

She pouted.

"You mean there's _more_?" asked a disbelieving Quinn.

"I have a large extended family," Kurt said defensively. "Ziva, Uncle Patrick, and Uncle Neal are working. Uncle Rick is on a writer's retreat. Aunt Jessica is visiting her cousins in Ireland. Aunt Kate is attending a workshop at Quantico. Melinda was planning to come, but her son Aiden came down with chickenpox." He paused. "Olivia is...unavailable," he said, averting his eyes. "I wasn't about to ask Uncle Tommy to fly across the ocean for a high school graduation."

"Uncle Tommy?" repeated a disparaging Puck. "Does he hang ten in Malibu?"

"First, learn geography," Kurt said disparagingly. "Second, he's a Detective Inspector with Scotland Yard. He's also the eighth Earl of Asherton."

Puck rolled his eyes. "You _would_ be royalty. You've certainly got the attitude for it."

"Nobility, actually, and thank you," Kurt sniffed. "I have my own title, but even without it, I'm your superior, as is every conscious person."

Santana and Quinn cackled.

Puck beamed at him. "You're _so_ going to miss me!"

Kurt sniffed again, blushed lightly, and mumbled under his breath.

"I'll miss you, too, you know," said a suddenly solemn Puck. "Hey, is Rutherford coming?"

Kurt began bouncing in his seat. "Yes! He's graduating a few days before, and his parents offered to send him. Mike was able to get him a ticket."

Finn crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

Kurt glared. "Mike! Finn is complaining about Matthew again."

Mike materialized at their side as though he had teleported. "Is he?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Finn, whose eyes were now the size of saucers, immediately put up both of his hands, palms facing out. "I wasn't! It's cool Kurt's Boyfriend can come."

Ever since he had learned Kurt and Matt were dating, he referred to the latter only as _Kurt's Boyfriend_ , despite the fact he had known Matt longer and they had been good friends.

"I bet he'll be coming in all sorts of ways," Puck said, waggling his brows and leering at Kurt.

"Santana is aiming a laser pointer at your crotch right now," Brittany helpfully told him.

Puck yelped and scrambled back to his seat.

Rachel stormed into the room in typical fashion. "What did I miss?" she cheerfully screeched.

"The recall on oversized toddler clothes," Quinn said primly, not looking up from filing her nails.

Rachel ignored her and sat next to Finn.

" _Kurt's Boyfriend_ is coming to graduation," Finn said stiffly.

Rachel looked perplexed. "Of course Matt's coming." She raised a brow. "Did you really think he wouldn't be?" She sighed. "They've been dating for two years now, Finn Hudson, so you need to get over it. You also had better be nice to Matt, or I'm going to ask Coach Sylvester to stand next to you for the entire ceremony and catalog everything she thinks is wrong with you."

Finn panicked and began hyperventilating. He then shook himself and frowned. "She wouldn't do that for you."

"Duh," Tina hissed, "but she'd do it for her Alabaster. She'd do _anything_ for Kurt."

The other girls nodded.

Kurt didn't blush, but ducked his head in embarrassment. "By the way, Finn and I would like to invite all of you, and your families, to a reception my father is holding at Tuscany after the ceremony."

Several of his friends cooed and cheered at the news, instantly agreeing.

Santana gave a low whistle. "Tuscany? Nice score, Tink. Will there be liquor involved?"

He gave her a withering look. "Of course not, Beelzebooze. Tuscany doesn't serve minors." He smirked. "However, neither they nor I can control what you might sneak inside."

She and Puck high-fived.

"It's very nice of you to invite us, Kurt," Rachel said. "Thank you."

He shrugged a shoulder. "I figured if I only invited the Harem and Prince Charming, the rabble would rebel."

She nodded sagely.

Sam shot across the room and threw his arms around Kurt. "I'm going to miss you so much," he whispered.

Kurt laughed and patted Sam's back. "I'm not yet gone, my Prince, so fret not."

Sam just hugged him more tightly.

"I still don't understand why you two never dated," Finn said, rather plaintively.

"Because I'm with Matthew," Kurt said, at the same time Sam said, a little too forcefully, "Kurt and Matt belong together."

"Princess and Hayseed would be hotter," Puck insisted.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"What?" he barked. "You know it's true."

Sam busied himself with his guitar.

Kurt gave Puck a bland look, though he was uncomfortable with what Puck was insinuating. "You had a threesome with my boyfriend. You what he's working with."

Puck nodded reluctantly.

"Oh, wow!" Mike loudly exclaimed. "My sudden and mysterious deafness has returned!"

Everyone laughed.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Kurt was patiently waiting at Dayton International for the first of his family to arrive. He had sent his father to Port Columbus to gather the others, cautioning Burt to behave himself and not air old family grievances that no longer mattered. He had told his father that if anything ruined his graduation ceremony, there would be hell to pay, and Burt had _believed_.

He glanced down at his watch, restraining the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. Alex's plane was right on time, and she was due at any moment. He had kept up with her and her career, but they hadn't seen each other since his mother's funeral over a decade ago. Burt still hadn't forgiven her for faking her death, entering the Witness Protection Program, and allowing the family to mourn her, as if her actual death would have been preferable.

Snorting and rolling his eyes at his father's antics, his heart thrummed with excitement as the gate opened and passengers began to disembark.

He would be calm and collected, he told himself. He was going to make a good impression. Alex loved him, of course, and he had no need to impress her, but he wanted her to see the intelligent and responsible young man into whom he had matured.

"Aunt Alex!" he squealed.

 _Squealed_.

Cover. Blown.

Alexandra Cabot smiled widely and casually began storming toward him, tossing people out of her way in a very polite manner. It was _so_ New York and so very her.

"Kurt!" she exclaimed.

He took a moment to revel in her rich, honeyed alto voice, one which he sadly and silently rued would never be his. It was somewhat strange to hear that voice from that mouth, as though the two shouldn't go together. Tall, blond, and blue-eyed, Alex looked as though she should be strutting down a runway, not facing down criminals in a courtroom.

She dropped her carry-on and threw her arms around him.

"I've seen the pictures, of course," she said, "but they didn't prepare me for what a handsome young man you've become." She smiled as his cheek, pressed against her own, began to heat up. "Am I the first to arrive?"

He pulled away and nodded. "Allison's plane will be landing soon. We should get going."

She nodded in kind, picked up her bag, threaded her arm through his, and steeled herself to the encroaching crowd. "Lead the way."

 

* * *

 

As they hurried toward the next terminal, Alex interrogated Kurt as though he were on the witness stand, albeit in a more subdued manner. It was simply who she was, and when she wanted information, she tended to demand it rather than ask. He took no offense.

He answered her myriad questions, which included catching her up on his father, Carole, Finn, and Matt, but mostly concerned his future career plans. She had been needling him for years to follow her into law, arguing that with relatives like her, Brenda, Patrick, Allison, and Myka, he had innate talent for ferreting out the truth.

She was annoyed that he planned instead to pursue medicine like Camille and Kate, even if they did tread the path of forensics, one which she absolutely respected. Still, she wanted Kurt in sharp suits using his sharp tongue, not in scrubs rooting around inside gutted corpses.

"You know, you could always do both," she said slyly. "There are those who follow pre-med and pre-law tracks, and then decide on professional school later."

He eyed her, bemused. "You're just not going to give up, are you?"

She scoffed. "That's simply not my nature."

He laughed. "Believe me, I know. Brenda gave me the same spiel when I was in California a few months back."

Alex nodded seriously. "I would expect nothing less. You already have the background, Kurt. I've followed the work you've done with Liza Capwell, and it's been nothing short of phenomenal. You're a born closer."

He was silent for a long moment. "I can't do it anymore, Aunt Alex, not after Cunningham." He refused to call the serial killer the Shadow Man. Mark Cunningham would never be reduced to a catchphrase in his eyes.

He had lived through the horror, had killed the man who had tried to kill him and had killed so many others, and he would never forget that Cunningham had been nothing more than a man. A sadistic killer to be sure, but a man nonetheless.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you," Alex whispered, pressing tightly against him.

"Some days, I am, as well," he admitted, "but there are others in which I'm grateful for the experience. I think I needed to know, even if only for myself, my capability, what I could handle and what my true mettle was. I survived it, but don't wish to repeat it, and I'm fairly certain that would happen were I to pursue law."

He glanced at her. "You were targeted and shot by Liam Connors. Aunt Brenda has Phillip Stroh. Uncle Patrick has Red John. I don't need nor want another archnemesis. That's one family tradition which I have no interest in following any further. And Allison..." He paused. "Well, you know."

She nodded tightly.

"I can't do what she does," he said softly. "It's not a question of strength, but of what you're willing to endure. I began working with Liza and Justine so that I could help people, but the cost..." he trailed off. He swallowed heavily. "Allison has paid and paid and paid. She's lost so much in the name of using her gift, but she doesn't resent it; she keeps going. She has nothing to prove, but she has this drive which is almost supernatural in and of itself."

He shook his head. "That's not me. Cunningham was bad enough, and I know there's worse out that will find me. I'm strong, but not that strong."

He sighed. "I want to help, to do my part, but I can't be directly involved in the investigations anymore, at least not where I'm exposed in such a manner. You've seen and read what Allison was put through when the story broke about what she can do. That could, and would, happen to me, and I don't want that kind of attention. As a pathologist, I could still work scenes. I could help the police and the district attorneys, to get justice for the dead, but I would be somewhat removed, and I need that."

"I understand," Alex said. "I really do, Kurt."

Her words were true, she knew. Kurt's potential was unlimited, and he had the intelligence and cunning to be brilliant at whatever he desired. She supposed some of her drive was centered on the fact that, like many members of their family, she viewed Kurt as a surrogate child. She wasn't certain she even wanted children of her own, and by the time that happened, it might be too late. Kurt was everyone's baby.

Those like her, namely Kate and Myka, tended to bombard Kurt with well-meaning, if suffocating, guidance. He bore it well, as he did most things, but that didn't mean he should have to.

He smirked. "That doesn't mean I don't read case law or study debate, just in case I decide to sit my LSATs. It just means I have no current plans to pursue law as a profession."

Which didn't rule out law school, a law degree, or her dream of Kurt tearing apart idiots in court. It just wasn't his focus right now. She could live with that.

She cackled.

 

* * *

 

"How is Allison doing?" Alex quietly asked as they waited for the plane.

"I don't really know," Kurt murmured. "She feels the need to protect me from what she's experiencing, so I have to keep up on her through Ariel, who's even more in the dark than I am." He sighed. "Still, Ariel's been very busy with Dartmouth and her own grief, and we've never been particularly close."

He frowned. "Do you think that's strange? That I'm closer to Allison than the daughter who's my own age?"

Alex stared at him. "You've never been your age, Kurt."

He bit his lip. "Ariel and the other girls have abilities. They always have."

"But not as strong as yours," she said gently. "You're the only one on par with Allison, and you have been since you were a child. Ariel, Bridgette, and Marie may one day catch up with you, but there's no guarantee, and you were never afforded the protective symbolism they were. They never saw the things you did in the manner in which you did." She shrugged a shoulder. "Not to mention, you also have Melinda's abilities and the onus that comes with them."

Kurt held his tongue. For some unknown reason, he didn't want to admit that those abilities had been somewhat weakened as of late. He hadn't crossed over a spirit in more than four years. He didn't know why they had stopped coming to him, why it was only darkness that he saw, and he was afraid to question it, afraid of what the answers might mean.

But it concerned him. He had inherited his abilities from his entire family, yes, but primarily his mother, who was almost an exact replica of Melinda in terms of power. Why was he more like Allison than Melinda?

"Allison has completely recovered from her stroke, right?" asked an anxious Alex.

He nodded. "Absolutely. She no longer needs the cane, and her hand is fully functional."

She bit her lip. "Are you..."

"Yes," he interrupted. "Both Melinda and I have been scanned, and we're fine. It's something we're keeping an eye on, just in case, but there's no reason to assume that Aunt Allie's tumor was a consequence of her abilities." He cocked his head. "Still, she's scanned every six months, just to make sure the tumor hasn't returned, and she's made it a part of the girls' yearly physicals. I know Melinda has had Aiden scanned as well. We're all fine."

Alex nodded, but appeared worried. She forced herself to set it aside. "Back to the conversation at hand. I know you've always felt out of place in our family, not only because of what you can do, but because you're closer to the adults than the children. It's not abnormal, Kurt. There's nothing wrong with that.

"I could successfully argue that perhaps we're responsible. We've always treated you more as a contemporary than a child, and if that was wrong of us, then you have my sincerest apologies." She shook her head. "Still, I don't think it was wrong. You saw things, knew things, that most children will never understand, even after they become adults. We couldn't treat you as less than that."

"And I appreciate that," he said, smiling. "I'm not complaining, but sometimes I wonder who I would be if I didn't have these abilities, if I were normal."

Alex smirked. "Even without the psychic assist, I doubt you'd ever be simply _normal_ , Kurt," she said sardonically. "That's just not who we are, and normal is highly overrated. Even the so-called normal ones in our family aren't really that normal. Your intelligence, your wit, your compassion, your observational skills - those aren't merely psychic detritus. You're more than your abilities."

She startled when he abruptly turned from her, though not before she could see the tears gathering in his eyes.

"You know that, don't you?" she demanded.

"I do," he said, releasing a shaky breath. He turned to look at her and nodded. "I do," he repeated, more strength in his voice. He paused. "It's just...I sometimes think there's something wrong with me, with the way I interact with people."

She pulled them down into two empty chairs.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. "You're right in that I never felt like a child, even when I was one," he finally said, "but I'm not sure I behave as an adult, either." He shook his head. "I'm not sure what I am, or how I fit in. I don't think I really do; at least, not very well." He shrugged helplessly. "I don't know who I am."

He waved his hands uselessly. "The family is one thing; I understand my relations with all of you, but with other people...I trust Justine and Liza with my life. I trust them absolutely." He shook his head. "But I can't say that they _know_ me. They've tried, but for whatever reason, I keep myself removed from them. Then, with my friends, only Santana knows what I can do; she knows about my work, my family, my relationship with Matt. She knows everything, really, but she's the only one who does."

Alex nodded patiently.

"The others don't, not even Finn and Carole. Dad wanted me to tell them, but I just couldn't, too afraid of what they would think, of whether they would believe me, of how they would treat me. Finn already thinks I'm made of glass. If he knew what I was really doing in the District Attorney's office, he'd never let me leave the house."

"Does Matt know?"

"No," Kurt quickly replied. "I know that I could tell him, that he would understand, but..."

"You think it would make you vulnerable."

He set his jaw mulishly, not wanting to admit she was right, but unintentionally confirming her hypothesis. "I wish I had told Sam. Outside of Santana, I'm closest to him, yet I've never said a word, even though I've wanted to do so."

"It's about control, Kurt," Alex said after a beat. "There's so much in your life you haven't been able to control that you seek it out where and when you can, and you hold to it tenaciously." She sighed. "Another family trait."

"But isn't that wrong?" he questioned. "Shouldn't I be more willing to allow people to know me? The real me? What does it say about me that I keep everyone at arm's length?"

"Perhaps only that you're not ready," Alex said. She tilted her head. "Or maybe you're sabotaging yourself."

He blinked harshly. "What do you mean?"

"You love Matt. You trust him."

He nodded, perplexed.

"Then why haven't you told him?"

Confusion evaporated and left annoyance in its wake. "You think I don't really love him."

"I didn't say that," she said, shaking her head. "I'm only suggesting that perhaps you're unwilling to acknowledge he might not be what you truly want."

"That's not true," he protested. "I love Matt."

"That's not the issue," she argued. "If you believe you can trust him with this, there has to be a reason why you haven't." She arched a brow. "You've told Santana. You've said you've wanted to tell Sam. You never said you wanted to tell Matt, only that you thought it strange you hadn't."

He said nothing, so she continued.

"It's very rare for someone your age to maintain a long-distance relationship. You haven't even seen Matt in over a year. You can't honestly tell me that part of his appeal isn't that he lives in another state."

He looked down at his lap, unable to deny her charge.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel safe," she said, "and if your relationship with Matt makes you feel that way, then I'm grateful for that and him. You need that, and you deserve it. That doesn't mean, however, that you're destined to be together, only that he's what you need right now."

As much as he didn't want to, he paid attention to her words. He also couldn't help but think that Matt deserved far better than him.

"Is he your Jim Clancy? Is he your Joe DuBois?" she asked. She shook her head. "I don't know, and I don't believe that you do, either, and that's okay. I'm not telling you that you shouldn't be with Matt, only that you don't have to put all of your eggs in one basket. You don't have to settle, and if you _are_ settling, it's no more fair to him than it is to you."

She hesitated briefly and then decided to go for it, but when she opened her mouth, it was announced that Allison's plane from Phoenix had landed.

As Kurt jumped to his feet, Alex sighed. She'd address it later, and probably with backup.

 

* * *

 

Kurt didn't even try to contain his excitement when Allison DuBois appeared at the terminal.

"Aunt Allie!" he gushed.

She turned toward him, beaming, and rushed forward.

Kurt was just as delighted. Outside of Patrick, he had always been closest to Allison, their affinity established by their shared gift and later buttressed by numerous shared opinions, outlooks, and behavioral tics.

"It's so good to see you, Kurty!" she said warmly, drawing him into an effusive embrace. She then pulled back and swatted him on his shoulder. "That's for not stopping off to see me when you were out my way those few months ago!"

He was chagrined. "I'm sorry, Aunt Allie, but I had only a short window to look at Stanford and USC."

She was having none of it. "Yet there was time to see Patrick?"

Kurt fought off his blush. "You know I had to. Charlotte asked."

She nodded. "I know, and I understand. I just miss you."

He smiled and hugged her again. "I miss you, too," he whispered in her ear. "All the time."

She patted his back and kissed his cheek before turning to Alex.

"Come here, you!"

Alex laughed and threw her arms around the cousin she loved but didn't often get the chance to see. "I'm so glad you're here, Allison, and I'm so very sorry I wasn't able to come last year."

Allison's eyes dimmed with sadness, but she waved Alex off. "You were working for the international criminal court," she said dismissively. "We both know how important that is. I understood completely, Alex."

"How are you doing?" Alex asked. She arched a brow. "Really?"

Allison sighed gently. "I'm managing," she said quietly. "I suppose that's all I can ask for at this point." She shook her head. "I don't think it will ever stop hurting, and despite what we tell people, we know that time doesn't heal every wound."

Alex and Kurt nodded in commiseration before exchanging a glance. If the way Allison appeared was anything to go by, she was suffering more than she was letting on. She had dark shadows smudged beneath her eyes and had shed a good twenty pounds, which she could ill afford to lose.

Allison had always been curvy, with a large bust. Bearing three children had left their marks on her body, but she carried herself extremely well. Fair, with light blond hair and sky blue eyes, she was the living embodiment of a Mother Earth goddess. Now her face was drawn and wan, gaunt. She looked ill.

"And the girls?" Alex pressed.

"It's hard," Allison said, "especially with Ariel away at school." She shook her head. "I know it's killing her to stay at Dartmouth, but I've been insistent. I don't want her throwing away all of her dreams because of this, and Joe wouldn't want that either." She shook her head ruefully. "I know she misses Marie terribly; after all, she helped me raise her. Ariel and Bridgette had a contentious relationship for most of their lives, but they love each other desperately, even more so now."

Kurt nodded. It was a lot like his relationship with Finn, he supposed. They quarreled often, but let an outsider say something against one of them, and the other always swiftly came to their defense.

Allison forced a smile. "I have to believe things will eventually settle down and that we'll somehow muddle through this." She exhaled. "Right now, I'm just happy to be here." She looked at Kurt. "Who do we need to pick up?"

He grinned, grabbed their bags, and began strolling away. "Follow me, please."

Alex and Allison looked at each other, shrugged, linked arms, and did just that.

 

* * *

 

"I hope we didn't miss them," Kurt fretted, looking around anxiously.

"You didn't," say a voice behind them.

He whirled around, eyes lighting with joy. "Aunt Cam!"

She chuckled throatily, shoved her latte into Seeley's hands, and pulled her nephew tightly to her. "There's my best boy."

Kurt giggled, dropped the bags he was carrying, and hugged her back. "You look gorgeous."

Alex frowned and turned to Allison. "I didn't get a _gorgeous_ out of him," she complained.

Allison shook her head. "I didn't either. I guess we know where we rank."

Cam glared at them over Kurt's shoulder. "Right," she slowly drawled. "It must be _so_ difficult walking through the world as blond, blue-eyed ideals." She fluttered her lashes. "How have you ever survived?"

Alex rolled her eyes as Allison snickered.

"This must have been how Jack Nicholson felt in _The Witches of Eastwick_ ," Kurt remarked.

Camille cackled.

Allison turned to Alex. "I'm Michelle Pfeiffer."

"In your dreams, Miss Cleo," Alex shot back.

"Does that mean Cam is Cher?" Seeley asked.

Kurt bounced right out of Camille's eyes and into those of Seeley Booth. "Uncle Seeley!" he shrieked.

"There's my Little Man!" Seeley cooed, hugging Kurt close before pulling back and examining him. "Not so little anymore, are you?" he said quietly. "You're so grown up. You look good, kid."

Kurt blushed and averted his eyes, as the three women exchanged glances. Despite popular thought, Kurt actually had several male role models in his life besides Burt, and all of them were worthy in their own unique ways. Seeley Booth, however, held a special place in Kurt's heart.

The very definition of a man's man - tall, dark, and handsome, with a dangerous yet important job - Seeley had informed Kurt's character perhaps more than anyone knew, even though he and Camille had dated only a short while and he hadn't been a constant presence in Kurt's life.

However, the fact that Seeley absolutely adored Kurt, despite being so very Catholic and prejudiced about a great many things, and could've cared less that Kurt was gay, that he had gone out of his way to keep in contact with Kurt even after he and Camille parted, had meant the world to Kurt.

Seeley had never been bothered that Kurt was gay, and while he made snide remarks about almost every minority group, even though he had dated a black woman and pseudo-adopted a gay child, he had always placed Kurt on something of a pedestal. In his mind, Kurt could do no wrong, and if Kurt was gay, it was because he was supposed to be. Seeley had no objection to that, but he objected to anyone who might argue otherwise.

"How's Parker?" Kurt asked eagerly.

Seeley grinned. Kurt and Parker had only met once, but they had established a lifelong friendship, despite their age difference. They regarded one another as cousins and kept in touch via phone and email. Kurt was constantly sending Parker gifts in the mail for no reason at all, and went overboard on birthdays and holidays, but Seeley didn't care. He knew Kurt saw Parker as something of a little brother, and it made him feel good to know that Parker had people other than his parents looking out for him.

"He's just fine," he said, smiling down at Kurt, who grinned. "Now why don't you introduce me to your lovely companions?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No one overestimates your charm more than you."

Camille roared with laughter, tears gathering in her eyes.

"These are our cousins, though I refer to them as aunts, Alexandra Cabot and Allison DuBois," Kurt gamely continued. "Aunt Alex is an Assistant District Attorney assigned to the Special Victims Unit in Manhattan, and Aunt Allison is a paralegal working for the Maricopa County District Attorney in Phoenix. Aunt Allie is also finishing law school."

Happiness danced in Alex's eyes as she looked fondly at Allison. "You went back."

Allison blushed and shyly nodded. "Joe always wanted me to, and Mr. Devalos has been an incredible help." She shrugged. "Besides, it runs in the family."

Alex beamed.

Seeley cleared his throat and nodded at both of them with surprising respect before shaking their hands. "I've heard of both of you, of course, and not just from Camille. You do amazing work."

"Thank you, Agent Booth," Alex said primly. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Allison nodded in kind. "We've heard of you, as well, and we both want to thank you for being so kind to our nephew."

Seeley grinned and wrapped an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "He makes it easy, and please, call me Seeley."

Kurt gazed up at him adoringly.

"Are you ready to start your internship?" Seeley asked him. "You're not giving yourself a lot of leeway between your graduation and when you leave for DC."

Kurt shrugged mildly. "It's better, I think. It'll be easier to make a clean break."

"Are we all set?" Alex asked.

"We just need to grab Aunt Brenda and Uncle Fritz," Kurt said. "Their plane should be arriving in about fifteen minutes, which gives us just enough time to get across the airport to meet them."

"I'm looking forward to seeing her again," Camille smiled.

Kurt's eyes widened. "Fair warning. She's about five months along now, and Uncle Fritz told me she's over the weepy stage."

Allison smirked.

"What's that mean?" Alex asked.

"It means Brenda's entered the full-on Raging Bitch Mode," Allison said pleasantly.

"And given that she's, well, _her_ ," Kurt added, "you can expect a nuclear holocaust before everything is said and done."

Seeley looked worried, while the three woman exchanged a glance.

"We're not technically related to her," Camille slowly said.

"She has no reason to spare us," Alex continued.

"She'd never hurt Kurt, so we'll use him as a human shield," Allison said, "and Seeley, Fritz, and Burt as cannon fodder."

Seeley blinked.

"It's nice to have goals," said a cheerful Kurt.

 

* * *

 

When they got to the terminal, they found a nervous Fritz shuffling from foot to foot as Brenda ruthlessly interrogated the TSA personnel, planning to file reports against all of them for gross incompetence. On principle alone, Kurt, Alex, Allison, and Camille agreed with every raving unleashed from her mouth, grinning when Seeley, Fritz, and everyone else winced as Brenda's voice reached an entirely different decibel.

"I'm all for letting her get it out of her system," Camille drawled.

Alex, Allison, and Kurt nodded.

"One of the agents at JFK groped me under the guise of patting me down," Alex said darkly. "I became my own special victim."

Kurt pressed his lips together tightly to avoid the snicker. "And what did you do?"

"I called the police, of course," Alex said casually.

The others cackled, which caused Brenda to halt mid-shriek, turn around, and drop her bags, eyes lighting with joy as Fritz all but sobbed with relief.

"Kurty!" she howled with delight.

"Oh, my," he whispered, bewildered when Brenda shot at him like a squirrel and then proceeded to hang from his neck like an albatross.

Allison, Alex, and Camille laughed at him, Seeley appeared confused, and Fritz was quietly thanking god that it was anyone but him.

"Aunt Brenda," Kurt panted, "I can't breathe!"

"Well, I'm breathing for two, but I'm not whining!" she happily shot back, hugging him even more tightly.

The other women continued with, what Kurt had deemed, their inappropriate laughter. He glared at them and then smiled.

Allison couldn't see it coming, ironically, but Camille sure as hell did, and her eyes widened with dismay.

"Aunt Brenda!" Kurt sweetly exclaimed. "Look who all's here! Aunt Allie, Aunt Alex, and Aunt Cam!"

Brenda squealed again, abruptly released Kurt, and launched herself at the aforementioned trio. Somehow, with their combined strength, they were able to remain standing while Brenda assaulted them.

"Oh, Allison!" Brenda gushed. "You look absolutely beautiful! And Alex! I always said you could have been a supermodel! Camille! I've been following your work at the Jeffersonian, and I must say you do our family proud."

"Thank you?" said a dazed Camille, after spitting out a mouthful of Brenda's hair.

Allison forcibly removed herself from the collective embrace, surrendering Alex to oblivion in the process, and smiled. "Brenda, you're glowing."

Brenda pulled back, blushed, and mumbled nonsense, running her hand over her swollen abdomen in a manner that was both unsure and protective.

"Aunts Alex, Allison, and Camille, Uncle Seeley, this is Aunt Brenda's husband, Special Agent Fritz Howard," Kurt smoothly interrupted. "Uncle Fritz, these are half of the people you'll meet today."

Fritz gave them a tired smile and they all proceeded to make introductions. Fritz and Seeley, aware of each other's reputations in the FBI, greeted each other warmly.

"Let's make our way to the garage," Kurt suggested.

Brenda nodded and turned to wave gaily at the TSA agents she had been harassing. "Thank you so much!"

Seeley and Fritz were bemused when the women began jockeying for positions next to Kurt, Allison and Brenda emerging triumphant, while Camille and Alex pouted.

"He's some kid, isn't he?" Fritz said.

"He's the best," Seeley affirmed.

 

* * *

 

"How are you feeling, Aunt Brenda?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, much better now," she replied, her arm looped through his. "The morning sickness has passed, though it didn't much trouble me, for which I'm very thankful." She sidled up against him. "A large part of that was thanks to you. I was so worried when I found out I was expecting, but you put both me and Fritz at ease. Thank you, Kurty."

He smiled. "I promise he's going to be just fine."

She grinned and again patted her belly. "Did you hear that, William Kurt? Your uncle says you're going to be just fine."

Kurt halted in his tracks, eyes and throat full. "What?" he whispered.

"William for my mama, Willie Rae, of course," Brenda chirped. "Fritz suggested that one. We both decided on Kurt as a middle name, in your honor."

Kurt pressed his lips together, struggling for words. "You didn't have to do that," he said finally, softly.

She waved a hand. "Of course we didn't _have_ to; we _wanted_ to. He's going to be the first of his generation, just like you were the first of yours."

"That's not strictly true," Kurt said. "Ariel and I are the same age, and she's already in college."

"But you're the eldest," Allison said. "Ariel started earlier than you because of when her birthday fell during the school year." She rolled her eyes. "Besides, we all know you probably could've skipped several grades."

"What about Aiden?" he objected. "Isn't he the first of the new generation?"

Alex shook her head. "Only a dozen years separate you and Melinda's son. If anything, he's the last of your generation."

Kurt blinked. "Why do I suddenly feel old?"

Allison slapped him upside the head. "You're asking us? As far as we're concerned, you just learned to walk, yet we're here for your high-school graduation."

He rolled his eyes.

She slapped him again. "Respect your elders!"

 

* * *

 

After chauffeuring his relatives to the Holiday Inn, regrettably the only acceptable hotel in Lima, Kurt left them to clean up and get some rest before he returned. He was planning a huge dinner celebration to welcome everyone and, while he had done most of the prep work the night before, he still had more to do.

He sailed into his house and greeted Finn, who slobbered over him in a very fraternal manner. It should have been annoying, but the more cloying Finn became, the more Kurt realized he would miss his brother. He soaked up all the attention he could and then forced Finn to return to his video game, trotting off in search of Carole.

He was absurdly grateful that she had taken it upon herself to look over the menu and had begun the majority of the work. He tied on his Williams-Sonoma apron and entered the fray, smiling warmly at his stepmother, whose eyes became misty.

"I'm going to miss cooking with you," she said.

"I'm going to miss everything about you," he said honestly.

She bit her lip and looked away, blinking back tears. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he said, suddenly overwhelmed by curiosity at the hesitance in her voice.

She looked worriedly over her shoulder, and he realized she was listening for Finn.

"He's absorbed in his video game," Kurt said.

She exhaled quietly. "Perhaps we could talk outside."

He frowned and looked at the food, bubbling away on the stove, and turned some of it down. "All right," he said slowly.

She nodded and led the way out the door.

He followed, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

They had settled down on two of the deck chairs by the pool. Kurt said nothing, waiting patiently for Carole to say whatever was on her mind.

She opened her mouth, closed it, frowned, and at last nodded to herself. "I have to confess, I was curious about your family, the ones I'll be meeting tonight."

He nodded.

"I knew the basics, of course," she continued. "Their names and occupations. I looked them up online."

He stilled.

"Allison DuBois is your cousin, right? On Suzanne's side?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"What she does...there were articles." She swallowed. "You're like her."

Kurt drew in a sharp, short breath. "Yes."

She nodded, her eyes distant. "That's what you do for Liza Capwell. That's what you _really_ do in the District Attorney's office. Just like Allison."

"Yes," he whispered.

She began shaking, but she nodded firmly. "Last summer..."

He sighed gently. "Yes. Mark Cunningham, called the Shadow Man by the media, began stalking me. Dad and I lied about me going to visit my grandmother in France. I was pulled from school and placed in a safe house."

She shook her head, tears spilling over. "Oh, Jesus. Oh, my poor baby."

"I was the person upon whom he fixated," he said, "the one alluded to in the press. He found me at the safe house. He murdered five people to get to me, and he finally did."

Her hands covered her face as she choked out breathless sobs.

"He shot my partner, Justine," he said, his voice a monotone, "and then he came for me. We struggled over the gun, and I killed him."

"Good," she hissed through clenched teeth. " _Good_."

Kurt stared at her.

She quickly wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. "How long?"

"I've been working for Liza since I was fifteen."

She shook her head. "How long have you seen these things?"

"Since I was six," he quietly answered. "I've been able to see spirits for as long as I can remember, but I had my first vision the day of my mother's funeral. A little girl, my age, was raped and murdered three counties over."

Her eyes were haunted. "And you saw it."

It was a statement, not a question.

He was amazed that, so far, she hadn't questioned him at all. Had he so severely underestimated her?

"I did," he stated.

She nodded and stared off. "Does anyone else know what you can do? Outside of the family, I mean." She turned to him. "I assume they know?"

"They do," he said. "They've done what they can to protect me, to shield my identity." He paused. "The only one who knows everything is Santana."

Carole blinked. Oddly, she could understand that. She couldn't say that she knew Santana well, and what she did know, she didn't like, but she had seen how Santana interacted with Kurt, how fiercely she protected him and ran interference for him with everyone else.

She might not have liked the girl, but she could never deny that Santana Lopez deeply loved her son - and Kurt _was_ her son. Suzanne might have birthed him, Burt might have raised him, but she considered Kurt her own and always would. She therefore held a debt of gratitude for Santana Lopez.

"What about Matt?" she whispered.

Kurt shook his head. "I think he has suspicions about things, but we don't discuss them." He frowned. "It's recently been pointed out to me that Matt and I avoid many pertinent topics of conversation."

He was startled by just how unsurprised she was. If Alex had seen it, and Carole had also noticed, apparently this bore further consideration on his part. It was something he didn't really wish to examine.

"This is why Burt is so overprotective?"

Kurt cocked his head. "In part, I suppose, but there's also the gay-in-Lima thing," he said, trying and failing to inject some humor into the heaviness of the conversation.

"Your mother could do this, as well?"

"No," he said, turning quiet. He was silent for several long moments. "Her abilities were different. I have hers, as well, but for whatever reason, I also possess those of Allison, and they're stronger."

"Tell me about Suzanne?" she asked. "Your father won't." She shook her head in consternation. "I think he believes I'm jealous."

"That's not it," Kurt denied, "or, if it is, it's only a very small part."

She shot him a puzzled look. "Explain."

He gathered a breath. "Mom's abilities were fairly straightforward: she was able to see and speak with earthbound spirits, often referred to as ghosts. Spirits remain earthbound out of confusion or by choice, usually when they don't understand why they're dead or they have information to pass on to the living. That's what Mom did; she relayed messages to loved ones and helped the spirits accept their deaths. My cousin Melinda Gordon also has this ability."

Carole's face screwed up. "She's the one who lives in New York, right? Grandville?"

"Grandview," he corrected, "and yes. Melinda, who is overall more connected to the supernatural world than either Allison or me, also has visions about that world. She sees portents of what's to come and how the supernatural world will interact with ours. My mother could do that as well."

She frowned. "Please forgive me if this sounds ignorant, but what's the point?"

He shook his head. "It's not an ignorant question. Melinda feels a tremendous responsibility to these spirits, as did my mother. Melinda views, and Mom viewed, it as her calling to cross the spirits over."

She blinked. "Cross them over to what?"

"Into the Light," he quietly said.

She stared at him for a long moment. "The Light?" she repeated faintly. "Are you talking about the great white light? Heaven?"

He shrugged mildly. "Some people call it that. I really have no idea what it is. My mother believed, and Melinda continues to believe, that the Light is the final destination, so to speak. The great reward, if you will."

"Do you believe that?"

He fidgeted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I don't know what the Light is. I can't see it; none of us can. You only see the Light when you're ready, and only after your death. I've crossed spirits over, but I've never seen the Light."

He shrugged diffidently. "You know that I'm an atheist. I don't believe in god, in some supreme deity that's overseeing everything and loves us unconditionally." He paused. "But do I want to believe in the Light? Yes, absolutely. I want to believe that the Light is real, even if it's not governed by some god. I want to believe that, after I die, I will see the Light and be reunited with those I've lost."

He paused. "I've seen the faces of spirits who cross over. I've seen their eyes when they first see the Light, the utter serenity they possess." He closed his eyes. "I know it's real, and I can only hope I'll see it when it's my time."

She shook her head. "I don't understand. How can you see what you see, do what you do, and not believe in god?"

"I just don't," he said bluntly. "Denying the existence of god doesn't mean I'm denying that the supernatural exists. I've seen it with my own eyes. Maybe god is real and I'm wrong. If I am, I'll apologize."

She snickered wildly and uncontrollably, but quickly sobered. "What else do you see?"

He arched a brow. "Things you probably would not like to know about."

She swallowed and nodded, having discerned that much a while back. "Is it awful?"

"Frequently, yes. Like Allison, the majority of what I see is violence, horrific violence. Working for Liza is the only way I can exorcise those images from my mind. It's the only thing that helps. Of course, if I can get justice for another, that's a reward in itself, but, no, I don't do it simply because I'm altruistic."

She shook her head. "As ridiculous as it might sound, this explains so much."

"Oh?"

"You're so different from other people your age, Kurt," she said. "I won't insult you by calling you a child. You no longer are, and I doubt you ever were. The differences I'm talking about go beyond physical age." She sighed. "You understand pain. You know loss personally, what it does and how it defines. You don't merely sympathize with people; you empathize with them on a level most of us could never understand, let alone reach."

He laughed. "I'm not nearly as mature, or as kind, as you all believe. I'm just a very good actor."

Her face became very serious. "You're acting right now. Please don't do that with me. I want you to know you never have to do that with me. You can't see what you do, you can't do the work you do, without it altering you on a fundamental level. Your intelligence is one thing; we all know you're beyond most of us on that score, but please don't discount or play off how truly extraordinary you are."

He blushed and looked away, clearing his throat to signal a change of topic. "Dad is so protective of me not because he fears my death, not because he guards Mom's memory through me, but because he doesn't understand what I can do. He tries, and perhaps he understands better than most, but there's a part of him that doesn't _want_ to understand."

She reared back. "Are you saying Burt's afraid of you?"

"Yes."

She digested and dwelled on that for a moment. It made sense, she supposed, after a fashion. Burt was a rational man. He was a tactile man. He believed what he could see for himself. He believed only what he could hold in his own hands. He most likely believed in his son, but that didn't mean he wanted this life for Kurt.

"He also resents it," Kurt said softly. "I didn't foresee Mom's death and neither did she, nor did Melinda or Allison. When I saw Patrick in California, he admitted he felt much the same. He didn't blame me for not seeing the deaths of his wife and daughter, but he blamed the others."

Ah, the elusive and mysterious Patrick Jane, she thought.

"It's one thing to scoff at what we can do," he added. "It's something else to know we can do it. However, it's an entirely different animal when you believe in such gifts and they fail you."

"Have you seen her? Suzanne, I mean?" she asked.

"No. I'm sure she crossed over quickly. There was no reason for her to stay. She knew Dad would take care of me."

"Would it have helped if you had seen her?"

He cocked his head. "Honestly? Probably not."

She nodded. "What will you do, now that you're leaving for college? Are you going to continue?"

He smiled wryly. "I can't exactly phone in a resignation. Luckily, I have support, an entire network of people I can turn to if needed."

She nodded absently.

He bit his lip. "Dad wanted me to tell you."

She nodded once. "Was there a particular reason you didn't?"

"Finn."

She snorted. "Understandable."

He looked away. "I was afraid you wouldn't believe me," he admitted, "that you would think I was a freak or something, and leave Dad. You make him happy, happier than he's been in years. That's very important to me, especially now that I'm leaving." He shook his head. "I couldn't live with myself if I destroyed that."

She was horrified. "That would never have happened, but even more importantly, it's not your job to ensure the happiness of others. No matter what might have happened, if your father and I had not worked out, it in no way would have been your fault."

She studied him, knowing he didn't believe her, and she saw the scared, vulnerable little boy he still was, the one he hid from so many, the one whose world had been shattered in more ways than one when his mother died.

Like Burt, she had known, but she hadn't really wanted to know, so she had denied what was right in front of her face because it was easier. She supposed that's what most people did. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to be Kurt, to be unable to deny anything.

"Finn's looking for us," he said.

She forced a smile. "I guess we should go inside, then."

He nodded and waited for her to get him. When she did, he trailed after her.

"I love you, Carole," he whispered.

He hadn't meant for her to hear, so, even as she wiped her tears away, she pretended that she hadn't.

Sometimes it was the only thing you could do.

 

* * *

 

Kurt and Carole had just finished the meal, leaving everything to simmer until it was to be served, when Burt stomped inside, muttering under his breath.

Kurt emerged from the kitchen, smirking. "Problems?"

Burt shook his head and growled. "Those _people_."

"Our family, you mean?" Kurt asked, laughing.

"They're not our family!" Burt insisted. "That English chick is freaking loco, son. I don't know what her deal is, but it's time for you to cash out." He shook his head. "The redhead was babbling about I don't know what, and at a speed that left me dizzy. Leena's a nice girl. Myka's fine, as she's always been, but that partner of hers." He pursed his lips. "Is he in love with you?"

Kurt's laughter grew exponentially. "No, Pete just wants everyone to like him. He's a great guy, really, but I admit he's goofy in the extreme. Don't take anything he says to heart. He's a natural flirt and is easily excitable. If Finn and Brittany ever had a love child, it would be Pete Lattimer."

Burt snorted. "Good one."

"How's Katrine?" Kurt asked.

"Your grandmother is fine," Burt said. "Happy to be here, and missing you like crazy."

Kurt smiled softly and ducked his head. "Is it hard for you?"

Burt shrugged for lack of something better to do. "I look at her and see who your Mom would have become had she lived. It's not easy, but, no, it's not hard, either."

"It's just sad?" Kurt suggested.

Burt exhaled as he hung up his hat. "Yeah," he said quietly. "It's sad." He shook his head. "I don't think I ever really appreciated what it did to her, losing your mom. I lost my wife, you lost your mother, Cam lost her sister...but Katrine lost her _child_." He blinked harshly. "I look at you," he warbled, "and my mind goes to that place..."

"I know," Kurt whispered, "but I'm here, Dad, and I'm okay."

Burt nodded, sniffed loudly, and began puttering around.

Kurt let the subject drop.

"Everyone else get in okay?" Burt called out from the living room.

"Yes," Kurt replied, following his father's voice. "Alex and Allison were no problem, and Camille and Seeley were fine. Brenda had a meltdown at the airport, but got over it."

Burt snorted again, this time in laughter, and shook his head fondly. "That's Brenda."

Kurt grinned.

 

* * *

 

Finn was nervous.

So many people - his family now, he supposed - that he didn't know were in his house. People of whom he was in awe. People he had heard about on the news.

He sometimes watched the news. It was kind of interesting, but also depressing. He didn't understand why reality television was called reality, when it was so far removed from reality as to be ridonkulous.

He'd seen Brenda on the news a couple of times, when cases she worked had gone national. The first time, Kurt had been all, _Hey, Dad, Aunt Brenda's on the news again_ , without bothering to look up from whatever book in which he had buried his nose. Burt had only grunted.

Finn's eyes had been like pinwheels as his head shook to and fro between them. Kurt was related to that woman? _Burt_ was related to that woman? Even now it boggled his mind.

He'd seen Alex on the news once, too, and Camille a few times.

It was weird, and no one but him thought of it as such.

These people were, like, famous or something. They didn't want to be, and the work they did was real and important. Finn respected that, respected them, and had an entirely new respect for Burt and Kurt Hummel.

Maybe it would have been better if Rachel had been there. Kurt had told him that she was welcome, and had probably even meant it, but Finn had declined. He felt weird asking Rachel to what was essentially a family function. That probably meant something, but he wasn't sure what, so he decided not to think about it.

He felt so out of place.

Kurt, on the other hand, was exhibiting none of the awkwardness Finn usually associated with his brother. It took a moment, but he finally realized that Kurt was interacting with these people as though he were an adult, which is exactly how they treated him.

Huh. Well, maybe it made sense, then, why Kurt was always so frustrated with everyone. Not that Kurt couldn't be immature, because he totally could be, but usually it was in response to how someone had treated _him_ , especially Rachel and Mr. Schue. Heck, even Mercedes.

But Ms. Sylvester treated Kurt like an adult, and Kurt and Santana were...well, they just _were_.

He shook his head to clear it, inadvertently looking around the room.

These people intimidated him on a massive scale.

Seeley Booth was the worst. Booth kept looking at him as though Finn were an interesting bug. He definitely got the sense that Booth didn't like him, though he had no idea why. Unless, perhaps, Kurt had told him about the many times Finn had been a complete dick to him.

Yikes.

Actually, strike that. Finn was far more intimidated by Brenda Johnson. She was terrifying.

He liked Alex. She was cool and together. Camille was nice, too, though a little cold. Actually, she reminded him a lot of Kurt.

Truth be told, all of them reminded him of Kurt in some way.

Allison and Alex looked a lot alike in that they had blond hair, blue eyes, fair complexions, and similar bone structure. Finn saw these things reflected in Kurt, especially when he thought about the pictures he'd seen of Kurt when he was a kid. Kurt was blond until he was, like, six or something.

Alex was the taller of the two and Allison more full-figured. Alex was very smart and used big words, and Allison had a soft, musical voice. The similarities to Kurt were striking, as were those between Kurt and Brenda.

Brenda had a sharp wit and tongue, and apparently very little patience. She just expected everyone to be as competent as she was, which also echoed Kurt.

Even though Camille was black and the others white, Finn still would have had no problem seeing her as a member of the family. There was the intelligence, the mastery of the eye-roll, the withering glare, and the aloofness which so hallmarked Kurt.

Finn looked at his brother and smiled softly. He'd never seen Kurt so relaxed before. Kurt fit in with these people. He obviously loved them as much as they loved him, and he reveled in it. The wariness Finn often saw in Kurt's eyes was absent now, and the smiles were real and unforced.

Kurt was happy, and Finn was just happy to be included.

And they did include him. All of them had kissed his cheek or shook his hand, telling him to call them Aunt-This or Uncle-That. They cared about him because they loved Kurt, and that meant something to Finn.

He looked around once more. Seeley and Fritz were talking in low voices; Allison and Alex were debating living on their respective coasts; Burt and Brenda were talking about who knew what; Camille and Kurt were conversing in French; and his mom and Kurt's grandma, Katrine, were happily chatting.

Finn wondered if it was weird for the lady. Katrine was a real lady, and had the title to go with it. It must have been strange for her to come here and realize this was no longer her daughter's house, that her daughter's husband was now married to someone else. However, if she was uncomfortable, she showed no signs of it, and appeared genuinely fond of Carole.

He did notice that Camille tended to shy away from Katrine, which made sense, given that her father, Katrine's husband, had had an affair and made a kid with a woman other than his wife. Still, Katrine didn't seem to hold any of it against Cam, and was nothing but effusive with her.

Alex and Allison were now arguing over, of all things, football, of which both were rabid fans, and drew Burt and Finn into their conversation. Kurt rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly. From there, the conversation segued into where Finn was going to college, what he planned on studying, Rachel, and a host of other things.

Finn was beaming from the attention and had no idea he was being interrogated.

They were interrupted when the doorbell rang and Kurt shot up to answer it.

"Must be Myka and her posse," Burt surmised.

"Posse?" Brenda repeated.

Burt just shook his head. "Wait until you meet them."

They all heard greetings, kisses, and a manly squeal. They looked askance at each other over the last one.

Myka then charged into the room and Alex, Allison, and Camille rose and ran to greet her, trapping her in a collective hug.

"It's so good to see all of you!" Myka gushed.

"You look gorgeous," Allison said.

"We've missed you so much," Alex added.

"I love your hair," Camille said.

Myka beamed happily. "Brenda!"

"Oh, Myka!" Brenda exclaimed. "How are you, sweetie?"

"Not as good as you," Myka replied, her hand hovering over Brenda's stomach. "May I?"

"Of course!"

Myka cooed in a baby voice as Brenda giggled.

Kurt cleared his throat, and when the others turned toward him, they noticed that he was being carried on the back of a man who was smiling stupidly.

Fritz and Seeley frowned.

"This is Special Agent Pete Lattimer, Myka's partner," he said, as Pete grinned at everyone, "Agent Steve Jinks, Claudia Donovan, Helena Wells, and Leena."

Greetings were exchanged. Allison was immediately drawn to Leena, and the two began a quiet conversation. Alex and Jinks had some common acquaintances in the ATF and began talking, while Claudia was, for some mysterious reason, fawning all over Burt, and had taken to calling him Uncle. Helena, for whatever reason, was standing near Kurt, almost as though she were guarding him.

Kurt dropped to his feet, only to be trapped in a smothering embrace from Pete, and soon Seeley and Fritz were by their sides smiling tightly and prodding gently at why Pete appeared unable to refrain from touching Kurt.

Once more, Finn looked around the room, marveling at the collection of people, at how they were both similar and so very different, but all united for a common purpose.

He supposed that's what family was all about.

 

* * *

 

"How did I get roped into this?" Kurt quietly wailed.

Santana snickered. "It's your own fault for being such a fashionista."

He rolled his eyes and continued to pin Brittany's graduation robe so that it resembled something other than a potato sack.

"This color does nothing for my complexion," Quinn said with disgust.

"Well, maybe it would if you weren't so damn pale," Mercedes said with aplomb.

Quinn glared. "And once again with your subtle racist comments. Funny how no one ever calls you on them."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. Quinn was never going to forgive her for saying that white people couldn't sing the blues. She could understand that, especially as Quinn had delivered an amazing performance and Mercedes hadn't bothered to apologize for her words.

"For that to happen, we'd have to care enough about what she says," Puck sniped.

Quinn cackled.

Mercedes glared at both of them. She had already lost her bet with Kurt, and now she was reminded that the first boy she had ever technically dated and the first female friend she'd ever had wanted nothing to do with her. She didn't care for them anymore, either, but it still hurt a little. Of course, blabbing about Beth hadn't been one of her finest hours. She sighed.

There was a time when Kurt would have rushed to her defense, even if she was in the wrong, but that time had passed. She supposed Kurt had had to fight so many of his own battles that he was simply too tired to fight hers. She didn't blame him. Still, it had been nice, having someone who always had your back.

There had been a few times, key times, in which she had not had his, however, and their relationship had never recovered. They were still good friends, but they were now separate entities.

Kurt finished with Brittany, shooting a sympathetic look at Mercedes, and went to touch up Santana's makeup, which led to requests from the other girls.

"I think I'm going to miss you most of all," Santana whispered in his ear.

He turned to her and frowned. "You're acting as though we'll never see each other." He shook his head. "That won't happen. Ever. You call, I come, the end."

"I'd love to make you come," she purred.

He leered at her and leaned over. "You're the only woman who ever could."

She smiled gently and kissed his cheek. "I love you, Rainbow."

"Love you, too, Queen of the Damned."

They laughed.

"I want some of that," Tina chirped, pushing her way in.

"You're always welcome," Kurt whispered, kissing her cheek as Santana hugged her.

"That's even hotter than my dream the other night," Puck observed.

"Why are you so horny all the time?" Mike demanded, shaking his head. "Dude, it's not normal. And stop fantasizing about my girlfriend!"

Puck just waved him off.

Artie, the valedictorian, was frantically rereading his speech and worrying needlessly over it.

"You're going to be fantastic, Artie," Kurt said, smiling. "You, too, Sweetness," he said to Brittany. "I'm so proud of you. Being the class-elected speaker is an honor."

They beamed at him.

"Does everyone know their parts?" asked an almost hysterical Rachel.

Kurt sighed, shook his head, crossed the room, and wrapped his arms around her.

"What is this?" Rachel shrieked. "What's going on? What's happening here?"

"I'm trying to hug you," Kurt said.

"Oh." She frowned, and then grasped him so tightly, the breath was forced out of him. "That's good," she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder. "Thanks."

He patted her back and smiled. "Everything's going to be okay, Rachel. We made it."

"I guess we did," she said, smiling into his neck. "I'm still furious with you for not coming to New York with me, you know," she mumbled.

"I know," he said, "but you belong there. I don't."

She shook her head miserably. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," he said. And he meant it.

Kurt Hugs, she decided, were extra special, and she didn't plan to let him go anytime soon. It was rare for Kurt to initiate hugs, so she planned to make the most of it. If this was what they felt like, no wonder Finn was always clinging to Kurt.

Indeed, she peeked over her shoulder and noted Finn was looking at them forlornly. It amused to her to wonder of whom he was more jealous: Kurt, or her. Somehow, she suspected it was the latter. She smirked at him and he glared back.

Kurt pulled away once he sensed Rachel was over her mini-meltdown and looked around the room.

He would miss these people.

Granted, his relationships with them had changed over the years: he and Mercedes were still friends, but not as close; he and Santana had become so close it was difficult to know where one ended and the other began; Sam had become the best male friend Kurt had never expected to have; he had renewed his childhood friendships with Artie and Tina, and they were now closer than ever; he had a brother.

His relationship with Noah was much like his with Pete Lattimer, in that it consisted primarily of inappropriate flirting and excessive touching. Noah was very handsy, and neither Santana nor Quinn had been interested in indulging him. Kurt tolerated Noah's need for physical affection because he knew Noah wasn't confident enough to pursue it with other people. It had also helped Kurt himself, who was not by nature an affectionate person, become more used to physical contact.

Mike had become a very good friend, in part thanks to Kurt's relationship with Matt, but though Matt had drawn them into the same orbit, once they were there, they had discovered many things in common.

His relationship with Quinn was odd. They regarded each other as siblings, but they didn't talk very often, nor were they affectionate in public. Most people didn't know they even liked each other. They preferred it that way.

Brittany was Brittany. He adored her and always would.

Yes, he would miss them. At the same time, he was anxious to leave and finally start his life.

 

* * *

 

Kurt sat with those whose last names began with the same letter as his, most of whom he didn't know. Luckily, Finn was seated right next to him and was holding his hand, more for his own sake than for Kurt's.

Caleb Hofstadter gave them a wary look, eyes fixed on their joined hands.

Kurt merely rolled his eyes, but Finn was having none of it.

"Kurt's my brother," he hissed, "and I can't think of anyone who would touch you with a stolen hand, let alone their own."

Caleb scowled and returned his gaze toward the podium, leaving a triumphant Finn to revel smugly in his victory even as he looked at Kurt in search of praise.

Kurt complied, smiling widely and clasping Finn's hand even more tightly. "That was good," he said from the corner of his mouth. "I'm proud, padawan."

Finn shot him a goofy grin.

Principal Figgins opened the ceremony with a speech which had obviously been recycled over the years and bored even him. He made a lot of remarks about the future, striving for excellence, his skill as an administrator, etc. Basically, he retracted everything he had ever said to every student in the class, or he outright lied, taking credit for successes which were not his.

"You're a complete wanker!" Helena called out, to much applause.

Kurt and Finn snickered as Myka tried and failed to shush her friend.

They both overheard the loud guffaws from Puck and Santana, and Quinn's snort of amusement. Quinn was fairly angry over the entire ceremony. She was the salutatorian, but Figgins had decreed that she would not be allowed to speak. He was not about to condone the poor choices of an unwed teenage mother, despite her academic achievements.

Kurt was the next in line, but Figgins had bypassed him, as well, for obvious reasons. Finally, the principal decided to forego a salutatorian altogether, which had pissed off many, not the least of whom was Rachel, who was next in succession.

Figgins nervously mopped his brow and decided to wrap up things quickly. He extolled the virtues of the Cheerios and made not even a passing mention of New Directions, despite the fact that the glee club had, in fact, taken Nationals that year. Kurt suspected that Sylvester might have had a hand in Figgins' declaration, but he couldn't be sure, since her default attitude toward the principal was rancor.

She appeared annoyed, and had been almost tolerant these past few months. Kurt had long ago surrendered his quest to unravel her and just tried to stay on her good side.

Figgins then introduced Artie as the valedictorian and went to take his seat, conveniently forgetting that Artie had no way to get up on the stage, which was without a ramp. As Artie flushed with anger and embarrassment, Santana stood up on top of her chair and began screaming at Figgins. Brittany, Rachel, and Tina all followed suit, with the other boys loudly supporting them.

It hadn't occurred to any of them that Artie was still stranded.

Kurt growled, stood, and dragged Finn with him over to Artie. He picked the boy up and carried him up the stage, commanding Finn to bring the chair. Finn complied, and once they were all on the stage, Kurt deposited Artie in the chair and wheeled him to the podium, purposefully running over Figgins' feet.

"No, I don't think I hit anything," Kurt said loudly. He glared at Figgins. "Nothing that matters, at any rate."

Figgins flushed as the entire audience got to their feet and cheered.

Kurt snatched the microphone from its holder and handed it to Artie, who took it gratefully and proceeded to deliver a luminous and heartfelt speech.

Artie then introduced Brittany, who sauntered up the stage and stepped on Figgins' feet just on principle. She didn't bother to apologize, which, to those who knew Brittany, signaled her fury.

Kurt, Artie, and Finn remained on the stage as Brittany tearfully rambled for an excessive amount of time, naming everyone in the graduating class and something special about them, even if it was only the neat pair of sneakers Teresa Beck wore one day back in freshman year.

Much of the audience was restless, but to the students, it only cemented Brittany's status as the most beloved member of their class. Her speech was the culmination of the flood of emotions the entire class had been experiencing in the weeks leading up to the ceremony, so to be paid homage by Brittany Pierce, who was universally beloved and cared not a whit about color, creed, gender, or sexual orientation, was a memory they would treasure.

Finally, Brittany exited the stage and returned to her seat, and Figgins began handing out the diplomas, announcing which college, if any, the new graduates would be attending.

Artie was heading off to MIT; Rachel to NYADA; Tina and Mike to Northwestern; Sam to the University of Tennessee; Quinn to Vassar; Kurt to Brown; Finn to SUNY Stony Brook, ostensibly to be close to Rachel; Mercedes to Spellman, where her race would no longer define her character; Santana to UVA; Brittany to Virginia Tech; and Puck was staying relatively local, going to OSU at Columbus.

There was a gravity to the procession which surprised most of those present, and all of the students were appropriately solemn and respectful, though it was apparent they couldn't wait to be done with McKinley once and for all. New Directions, however, made sure to cheer loudly for one another when their names were called, as did the Cheerios and the Titans, despite the poor record of the latter.

Kurt's family and friends were hysterical when it was his turn, and they cheered just as loudly for Finn.

Figgins then announced the academic awards, ceding the podium to the department heads. Kurt took top honors in Physics and Biology; Artie in Mathematics and Computer Science; Santana in History and French; Quinn in Chemistry; Tina in English; and Mike in Spanish.

It was lost on no one that all of the recipients were members of New Directions, the Cheerios, or both.

The ceremony, held in the stadium, at last drew to an end, and Sue Sylvester took center stage, ready to introduce the Cheerios, who would be closing the event. She crowed about their multitude of national titles, including their most recent one. She explained, in painstaking detail, why they - and she, in turn - should be worshiped and held up as exemplars of athleticism.

While she spoke, many students left their seats and raced down to the field, still in their caps and gowns, and the number was far more than it should have been. Due to the swell of excitement, however, this was overlooked.

Sue was in her element, and she made sure to let everyone know it. However, even she finally grew bored of talking about how great she was and decided to wrap it up.

"Current losers, those who graduated McKinley and are still losers, undistinguished faculty, and the rest of the unwashed masses! I am proud of myself and present to you my greatest accomplishment: the Cheerios, led by the incomparable Alabaster!"

" _Who?_ " many asked, though they nevertheless applauded with enthusiasm.

Only those who knew her well could detect the slight tremor in her voice. No one was aware that she had allowed Kurt to plan the entire spectacle, and though she had checked in on occasion, she had no idea what he had in store.

He'd given her three national titles, however, so she would give him this...and make the rest of his life a misery if he and it failed to meet her expectations, though she doubted that would happen. It was much more likely he would impress the hell out of her and she'd probably have to slap him.

She really was going to miss him, and she kind of hated him for that.

She stood at attention, unmoving, and waited for Kurt Hummel's final extravaganza to be unleashed upon the truly lamentable Lima, Ohio.

**Author's Note:**

> The song used in this story is "XXX's and OOO's," by Trisha Yearwood, off her album _Thinkin' About You_ (1995). I've changed the lyrics slightly and corrected the grammar of the title, because it was bugging me.
> 
> If you'd like to suggest further crossovers, feel free. The other fandom should ideally be one that features law-enforcement in some manner. There are no guarantees that I'll take the suggestion, especially if I'm unfamiliar with the fandom, but they're nonetheless welcome.


End file.
